Call of Duty: ForeFront
by Littletimmy223
Summary: The Ghost's defeat against the Federation was a marveling display of bravery and strength. Many saw the retreating country as crushed, and there were those within who believed so as well. However, a hidden enemy is making himself known with a different agenda. To rise from the defeat and bring America to its knees. For he has a secret weapon. Two, actually.
1. Prologue: Dark New Beginnings

**Author's Note: **Hey all! So this is my first venture into the world of Call of Duty. To say the least, I'm excited. I've seen many fanfics on the topic of Ghosts by now, and all of them have their marvel and suspense. Though an idea hit me, one that I just couldn't contain. So I wrote it down and made it into a prologue.

I hope you enjoy, and there will definitely be more to come.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Call of Duty or any of its characters. Only my OC is mine.

* * *

**CALL OF DUTY: ForeFront**

**Prologue: Dark New Beginnings**

* * *

There was something to be reckoned with when people thought of the Ghosts. They were a revered and highly respected military outfit, one shrouded in shadow and fear.

In fact, there was so much of that fear that their enemies refused to believe the Ghosts existed. For the very thought of the possibility that they did, that they were real, it was enough to make anyone paranoid.

And maybe it was that refusal, that vehemence of deniability, that drove the Federation to a stand-off. An inexcusable stand-off.

It was sickening to know that all of these men and women, whose freedom was being squandered, were hiding their true potential all because a couple of freaks in ghost masks decided to play hero.

It definitely sickened Howard Creed.

The man was not one to be differed with, not one to be shut down. It didn't matter that the Americans had destroyed the Federation fleets, they would rise back up from the ashes like a phoenix.

They would persevere.

They would have their victory.

And in a ways, the destruction of Loki hadn't been an entire demoralization, for one bright light had crept out of it. One good thing to come of all the madness.

They had a Ghost. The ultimate killing machine, the ultimate hunter, the ultimate grim reaper. He was theirs.

Fully.

In both mind and spirit. The Federation had broken him, piece by piece. Slowly stripping away his humanity, the best way possible. The best medicine was to rip someone bare, expose them for who they are, and then find the cure. And it worked like a charm.

Creed wasn't surprised in the slightest. In fact, he'd expected the process would've taken much longer. Perhaps years. Thankfully, it hadn't.

Just the thought that the Federation's future, which was starting to linger in doubt, was now getting brought into a fully realized, new beginning was exhilerating.

_And it's all because of me. _

Creed couldn't keep the smugness from his face as he took a sip of his coffee, letting the plush leather of the car seat support his back.

Now, the beginning and the end of all that mattered was in his hands.

_I am the destructor, and the creator. Alpha and Omega. _

More words of pride that Creed couldn't contain. Mostly because the thoughts were true. It was his doing that the Federation rose to power in the first place, his team was the one that destroyed Odin before turning it against the Americans.

He remembered what his mother used to say: "_Make sure you never underestimate your enemy. Sometimes, their greatest weapons can be their greatest weaknesses._"

Those words rang true and true, each time Creed thought of them. God bless his mother's sweet soul, may she rest in peace. If she hadn't been so strict with supply rations, educational lessons, teaching humility and discipline, Creed knew he wouldn't have gotten where he was today.

But his mother was a true blooded patriot. A patriot who fell in love with another patriot, one who wasn't in the same views of light. A Russian and a Spaniard, somehow falling in love and getting married.

It was remarkable. But Creed was remarkable, and the man knew it. The man hated his parents however, and the thought brought a sour taste to his coffee.

His name, one he'd chosen himself, had given him a definition away from his accursed heritage. He loved them, of course he did, as they were family. He loved the values they taught him, his father's Spetsnaz training, his mother's nobility, but he hated who they were.

And the truth was that they were cowards. Maybe not in body, but in spirit. And that was the reason that Creed left that despicable household and traveled. Because he knew he could make a difference in the world, rise up and strike out of the muck of undervalued scolding. And he had.

He'd single-handedly brought one of the greatest superpowers to their knees. And it felt so good commanding that squad, the one that rained hell down on the United States. He knew that if his mother was alive today, she'd be proud.

_Dad, you can go fuck yourself. _

Creed smiled at driver as the jeep pulled to a stop outside of the Amazon facility, the inquisitor stepping out into the hot tropical sun with an indignant huff. Creed instantly realized that maybe he should've gone with the cobalt blue polo for this trip, but brushed the thought aside as it was too late to go back and change.

Besides, wearing a white Italian suit was always a fashionable choice. Even if it was opened up rather immensely due to the heat.

Creed didn't bother with any greetings, simply taking off his aviators with a cold-set look as he neared the narrow pathway.

"Take me to him." The business man snapped his fingers, launching the Federation soldiers into a rushed "Yes, sir," as they began escorting him into the jungle.

The fresh air was relaxing, much less stale than the cold interrogation room Creed had spent the last twenty-four hours in getting berated by his higher-up, the Director.

_Another person who can go fuck themselves. _

Creed didn't let the inward snarl show as he thought of his commander. The plan with Loki was supposed to be fool-proof, impossible to counter-attack. Yet, somehow someone managed to screw that up in ways so bad that the entire station was commandeered and turned against them.

And when news that Rorke had been killed...well...

...Shit _really _hit the man then.

Thankfully, no such thing had occurred, and Creed wasn't hanging with a noose around his neck. As Inquisitor to International Federation Affairs and Field Ops CEO, IIFAFO for short, it was his job to make sure the plan was followed through to completion. To triple check each and every nook and cranny, make sure nothing could possibly go wrong. To investigate all potential objects of failure.

And he had failed. Though to his credit, Creed thought he did a pretty damn good job. Actually, a superb job. Which was the reason he wasn't replaced. At least the Director had some common sense.

Nearing up on the site of containment, Creed allowed himself to take in the scenery.

It was beautiful, and that was putting it mildly.

The hills looked absolutely breathtaking, the sun was high in the sky, the flora and fauna just coming to life from their morning gloom. The sounds of the insects running around the underbrush, wildlife calling out in the far horizon. All of it was surreal, as if taken from a fairy tale book. Creed could get used to a sight like this.

No one would suspect that such a place could be tainted with destruction and violence. That the bloodbaths of hundreds of innocent civilians had not stained this forest. That their lifeless bodies would sometimes be hanged up on the branches, that the tortured would be let loose into the wild to run for their lives, and then brutally hunted like a startled doe.

These were the torture grounds, and every time Creed saw them he felt sick. There was no real beauty to sky, no real fragrance to the breeze.

_Rorke loves it here, and I can see why. This place was made for him. Funny, since this was where that sick bastard was created. _

"Let's get it over and done with." Creed squinted as he turned back to face his group, who had reached their destination. "Open it up."

The bamboo hatch was yanked open, a haunched figure lay down in the mud inside. One had to stoop down to see his full features, which weren't pleasant to see at all. The man's body was hunched over, as if he couldn't fully stand straight. His filthy arms hang limp at his sides, his face lulled to his shoulder. Scars and burns filtered across his being, the sandy brown hair now ratted with nature.

Vomit and blood, wet from the short rain, had dampened the muddy floor of the hole. The prisoner looked utterly, and completely, broken.

_Excellent. _

Creed found a wide, toothless smile spread across his tanned face.

"Get me Rorke. Tell him we're ready for Phase Three."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Well there it is! Tell me what you think. Prologues are always short, so the next chapter will be much longer.

Stay tuned!


	2. Chapter 1: Awakened

**Author's Note:** Hello again! Thank you SO much to all who reviewed, I was incredibly flattered with your responses. Anyhow, this is the first chapter to what will be a (hopefully) long story. Don't worry, I have the first arc of it all planned out. Also, I'm overjoyed that you guys like Creed. Most of me was afraid he'd, I dunno...ruin the story. That didn't happen though! So yay on that. But enough of me talking, here's the first chapter of **Call of Duty: ForeFront. **

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Call of Duty, or any of its characters. Only my OC is mine.

* * *

**CALL OF DUTY: ForeFront**

**Chapter 1: Awakened**

* * *

Darkness.

Pain.

Agony.

Repeat...

...That was the way of the world now for one Logan Walker. A soldier, a fighter, fallen from grace. A soldier who was left to rot in a hell hole, only to be resurrected as a changed man.

At least, that was what Logan was sure they wanted.

The Federation, a group of meaningless pigs. A blot on the world of men, a nation that speaks noble virtues but is filled with cowering vices. Its stench could be smelled miles away. A stench Logan had to live with for God knows how long.

Yet, he'd survived. But he was sure they wanted him to. They didn't want him dead, he'd be of no use to them then. No, they wanted to turn him. Like how they turned Rorke.

Logan grimaced as he remembered the bastard who murdered his father. That man deserved to be rotting in the pit with him, but even then that'd be too good for such an evil.

_And he's the reason I'm here..._

It was true. Rorke should be dead, festering away at the bottom of the ocean, his corpse a meal for the fishes. But it appeared that the universe had different plans, and instead he was forcibly kidnapped by the former Ghost and taken away to this place.

If Logan had to guess where he was, he'd say the Amazon. He remembered his dad talking about the unique method of brainwashing the Federation used. Poisoning the body with exotic fruit, leaving them in a hole for days, before finally taking them out so that they could mold them to their own desires.

It was pure savagery.

_But I'm still awake. I'm not gone yet. Just stay strong...for Hesh..._

Each day Logan was constantly vomiting up his meals, the poison cutting knives through his insides. Whatever combination they used, it was horrific. Logan wouldn't wish this poison be used on his worst enemy, it was that ghastly.

The nights were the worst, when it would begin raining, drenching him from head to toe. Logan was sure he'd die of pneumonia before the process was complete, a part of him actually wished he would.

The last thing the young man wanted was to turn against his country, against his friends, against his brother. But as each agonizing day stretched on and on, it felt like the hope of being found was slowly draining from him.

It suited Logan fine for the most part. If he couldn't be rescued, better be dead than be used as a weapon. It was the honorable thing to do. He wasn't some self-preserving asshole who'd turn on his beliefs when offered a chance at freedom.

No.

No, he was _stronger _than that. He was _better _than that. He owed it to dad to keep fighting, and to never ever stop.

So Logan thought of what Hesh might be doing while he was locked away. What his older brother might be planning. He hoped Hesh wasn't letting his grief take the better of him, that he wasn't too emotionally compromised. Besides, he had Riley.

Logan swore that whenever that German Shepard entered the room, his brother lit up like a Christmas tree. It was beautiful to watch, since years of fighting off the Federation had extinguished the happiness on Hesh's features.

Riley was Hesh's salvation right now, just as Hesh was Logan's.

Logan couldn't remember a day when he was without his guardian angel. The two of them were always watching each other's backs, always sticking their necks out for one another. Dad had raised them to be a team, and they were a damn good one.

Which only meant that Hesh was hitting himself hard for not saving him. Logan wished he wouldn't be blaming himself. There was no way he could've stopped Rorke. It was just an incredibly unlucky situation.

_Why couldn't the bastard stay dead? _

Logan felt his fists clenching, though all the time in the hole was effecting his motor capabilities. He was having trouble speaking, and any words that did come out were incoherent babbles of nonsense.

It'd been awhile since he'd last been checked up on, which only made the young Ghost anxious.

_Have they forgotten about me? Do they even know I'm still alive? Still here? _

It was certainly a possibility. The Federation had suffered a massive defeat at the hands of the Ghosts, and there was probably hell to pay for it back in the capitol. Rorke was hopefully getting his ass chewed off by his superiors. Or even better...executed for his failures. That'd bring Logan some comfort.

Then there was the possibility that the Federation had been defeated already. Logan had no idea how much time had passed. It could've been two to seven years for all he knew. The Federation could be countering on every front, in a desperate defense to preserve themselves.

He hoped that was the case, as Logan couldn't bare the thought of his brother being in the same condition he was in.

No, Hesh was alive. He could feel it.

Logan was stirred from his perpetual feet by hearing movement above.

_Could it be? Am I saved? Hesh?! _

His hopes were quickly dashed upon hearing a voice he didn't recognize. So they _had _remembered that he was still alive. Well good, cause they were about to be disappointed, for Logan felt an invigorating strength course through his spine.

They weren't getting anything from him. Not today.

A harsh sunlight cascaded itself upon Logan's miserable eyes, though the man didn't have enough energy to block the beam. He simply lay there, sunken, defeated. Any attempt to escape would be vain, so he just let himself go limp.

If they wanted him to come with them, they'd have to carry him.

And carry him they did.

Logan felt himself getting hoisted up atop a broad-shouldered frame, carried out bridal style into the South American wilderness. For what it was worth, the view was spectacular.

Birds of all shapes and colors came out from the shadings, their chirps of ignorance and glee lighting up the sky as they dashed to and fro. They looked like children just getting home from a long day at school, letting the weight of responsibility fall free so that they could enjoy each other.

Logan missed that feeling.

Then he felt pain, a feeling he did not miss.

His vision was being yanked up, or rather, his head was. A pain was coursing through the root of his head, and it took a moment for Logan to realize that someone was pulling his hair.

"...I want him cleaned up." The voice was sharp and commanding, having a rather resounding effect on Logan's eardrums.

This was the first voice he'd heard ever since his capture.

Logan didn't like the way it sounded, as if he was a lab rat that they needed groomed for testing.

He had a feeling that wasn't far from the truth.

The grip on his hair loosened as footsteps of an individual left his position, probably the man who had just spoken. Logan had already decided he was going to see more of him, and that he wasn't going to like him.

Probably also not too far from the truth.

He was moving again. This time it felt like he was going down, a dark chill running its way up his spine. Were they underground? Logan couldn't tell, it was too dark for him to see anything.

What he could tell was that it was futile to resist the pull of this man's arms. He was basically being dragged away now, feeling another pair of hands gripping his outstretched arm as his captors moved him into a kneeling position.

Logan felt his body get down on its knees, then everything went still. It was complete silence, disturbingly so.

Then there was icy cold. Logan's mouth opened to scream, though no sound came out. Only a frozen scream of bubbles escaped his lips, expanding beyond his field of view as they ascended to the surface.

Suddenly, it was over. Logan heard his gasps for air as he breathed in the stank atmosphere of this...bunker, he decided.

_Cleaned up? More like water-boarding you sicko! _

The cold water did more than its intent, however. Not only did it clean him up, but it also sent a jolt to Logan's nerves. He felt alive now. More alive than he'd been in a while. And it felt _good_.

Using his Ghost training, courtesy of dad, Logan launched an elbow out, catching his left captor's face. The muffled grunt, followed by the soft squish of bone meeting flesh, meant that his mark had hit its intended target.

A swift kick in the abdomen took any victory Logan was feeling at the moment. His body convulsed into a fetal position as he felt the boot kick him again. Hard. This time in the back.

And then another kick, and another, and another, and another.

By now, the wounded captor had joined his comrade in beating the shit out of their prisoner. It seemed like they were enjoying it. Logan felt his body going numb from the beating, and just when it felt like he couldn't handle it anymore...it stopped.

"Enough! I told you to clean him, not eviscerate him! We need him conscious!" The voice from the jungle interrupted the pounding. Logan stayed still, letting his breathing return to normal as he allowed his muscles to relax.

_So what? Is this guy afraid I'll be damaged goods?_

Logan scoffed in a smirk despite his weakened position, realizing that blood had flown from his mouth as he opened it.

_I'll be feeling this in the morning...If I live till then. _

Pain pulled him back to reality.

"But Sir, he was aggravating a lethal assault aga-Argh!" The gruff voice of the guard was cut short with the sound of an electric buzz, followed by a yelping of pain. Logan swore the man's vocal cords had raised a cord.

"And you thought this a risk? I'm surprised, soldier, that you let a half-dead, beaten, doe-eyed, malnourished, irrational prisoner get the jump on you. And on top of your lack of reflexes, you honesty surmised that this man was a lethal threat to you."

The Voice, as Logan was now calling him, paused. A slow sigh swallowed, and it sounded a lot like exasperation.

"Perplexing." The Voice finished.

"Perhaps you'd like to join Mr. Walker down there as one of the biggest idiots I've ever seen. At least _his _only sin was arrogance, whereas you are utterly pathetic."

Logan felt himself getting lifted back up onto his knees, the sound of light footsteps behind him.

"Ahh!"

Logan shouted out through gritted teeth as he felt himself get electrocuted.

_So that was what he used. A taser. I fucking hate tasers. _

"Snap back up Walker, we've still got work to do." The Voice grounded out, as if listing the next item on the agenda in a conference meeting. "I need you bright and focused. If you feel like your eyelids are getting heavy, or your body starts to slack, bite your tongue to stay awake."

Logan refused to make eye contact with the man, and instead spit in his general direction. He had no idea if he hit his mark, or maybe just sprayed the man's face, but it definitely distanced himself from the Voice.

Until a backhand smacked him across the face, dazzling the stars out of Logan's eyes.

_Damn it, he was wearing a ring! Fucking smarts!_

Logan had been smacked a few times when he was a kid, either stealing from the cookie jar or refusing one of his dad's camp games, but not like this. This smack was intended to hurt, and hurt it did.

"Listen, you cocky _shit. _I was happy to let you rot in that pit until the icecaps melted ten times over, but yet I let you out. Even spared you further pain from those hooligans, and I don't give out charity often. So next time you think of more colorful ways to show your 'appreciation', just remember that everyone can be replaced. I'm sure you wouldn't want me to bring your brother into this. That'd just complicate the hell out of things and-"

"You leave my brother out of this!"

Logan was surprised that the words had managed to be spoken from his broken frame, yet he somehow mustered up the strength to shout them out.

The Voice stepped back now, moving into a dim overhead light that cast an eerie glow around his figure. Now that Logan was able to see his enemy, he allowed himself to soak the image in.

His stature was straight, as if a pole had been shoved up his ass and used as a spine. The weight which he carried himself definitely showed how superior the man thought he was. He looked like he was in his mid-forties, rough lines around his facial features. Logan took a guess that this guy had seen some things, some pretty bad things.

His attire was also intriguing. The man was wearing a crisp, white Italian suit it seemed. Logan would've laughed at the absurdity of it, but it hurt to move his lips.

_Doesn't he know he's in the Amazon? Not some fancy Chevrolet auction, dumbass. _

He was also tall, for starters. Logan estimated he stood no more than six feet. A crop of dark brown hair matted his head, combed back in a executive fashion, though the sweat of being in humidity had sunken the hair down. It stuck to his frame like a leech.

The next thing Logan noticed was the man's skin. It was a strange shade of brown sugar and cream, giving him an interesting contrast. His eyes were penetrating as Logan felt them searching him, the charcoal pupils containing a strong sense of...calm? Control? Domination? Logan couldn't decide, but it definitely made him uneasy. The man stared at him as if he knew him already, as if he'd stolen Logan's soul and was dawning the puppet strings.

As if he'd already won. But won what? The Federation was in shambles, there was no hope for them. Perhaps this man was just desperately clinging to any shreds of promise, like pieces of paper blowing in the wind.

Something told the Ghost otherwise though. He definitely had a plan.

"Well, _that _got something out of you." The man remarked with a tinkle of curiosity in his voice, as if jotting down a fascinating science experiment in a notebook.

"Take him down to the room for 'education'." The suit guy nodded his head at the guard, who saluted before trudging Logan along down the dark, dismal hallway.

It gave Logan time to reflect on whatever 'education' meant. He highly doubted he was about to be given a history lesson. That man seemed determined to win him over, Logan could see it in his eyes.

That man carried a lot of pride with him, that was for sure. The way he spoke, calm and unperturbed by any disturbances. Even when he was insulting him he spoke with a serenity, yet edged tone. He was sharp. Sharp as a blade.

_But I'm sharp, too. _

Logan smirked as he latched onto that thought as he let the bunker hallways blur together in a meaningless blob of time. He remembered the man's advice to bite his tongue if feeling lousy, and Logan promptly ignored said advice.

He didn't want anything to do with these people. He didn't care what plans they had for him, he didn't care that they wanted him alive, nor did he care how they treated him. Logan Walker was a patriot, an honorable member of the Ghosts, and above all: loyal.

He would never betray his country to his enemies, no matter how hard they pushed him. He'd endure the cruelest of tortures, the pure wrath of the Federation up front.

_Ghosts don't break. _

Logan set a hard face as he was strapped down into a chair, his arms and legs bound down on the cold metal surface. He felt his neck being pushed back into a hold, locking his head forward. He couldn't turn, he could only stare straight ahead at the blackness that surrounded him.

It was silent again.

Logan had no idea if the guard had left him or if he was still there, just standing patiently behind him in a creepy manner. Maybe this was part of the torture, not being able to glance around. Therefore he had no way of knowing what was going on around him.

Smart.

The silence dragged on for what seemed like an eternity. Logan just sat there, unable to move, unable to do anything but wait. Wait for someone to eventually enter and begin the procedure of breaking him down, piece by piece.

Logan didn't care if it killed him, he wasn't going to make it easy on the interrogator. Whoever that man was he talked to outside, they'd be in for a rough disappointment. Cause this kid wasn't quitting. Not quite yet.

_BLAM! _

A loud screeching sound blast its way into the speaker system in the room, creating a sharp pierce of static that caused Logan to wince in pain. Rough hands wrapped themselves around his eyeballs at that moment, forcing them open as two clips were placed along the eyelids. Logan struggled as best he could, but he was at a major disadvantage with his hands bound.

"Stay still, it'll hurt less." The Voice quipped out in an annoyed puff, causing Logan to inwardly smile. His new mission was to make things as difficult as possible for this person, no matter the personal expense.

The Voice won over though, as the clips were inserted, preventing Logan from blinking. As soon as they were over his eyes, an insanely bright white light broke through the darkness on the other side of the room. Logan groaned at the blinding spectra, trying his best to tear his face away.

The light faded briefly, only to be replaced by images of smiling people, happy meadows, planes flying overhead, cloudless skies, busy traffic, and other such harmless things.

Logan was forced to take it all in, his body rigid as he found himself glued to the screen in a hypnotic way. A voice resonated from the speakers, a feminine quality to it as the sound echoed off the walls.

"_The Federation is a glamorous union of all South America's major powers, dedicated and committed to one act; bring peace to the world. We've grown, as our noble conquest to civilize less fortunate cultures has brought many allies into the fray of our beloved crusade. Our unity and bravery in the face of those who oppose us makes our civilians feel safe, brings virtuous triumph in the face of our people, and shows our enemies that we will not be driven away be greed and corruption." _

The voice continued drawling on, like a narrator for a cheesy documentary.

Logan felt himself getting jumbled up, his mind in a frenzy as all the images started to pass in at an alarmingly fast rate. The voice did not match the speed at which they were presented, and once or twice the image of a dead, twisted corpse replaced one of the happier pictures.

The whole construct was disturbing to him, and Logan had no way of stopping it.

The video continued, image after image passing by, the female voice chirping up all the virtues the Federation stood for. It was like a freaky movie meant to brainwash children.

Logan wanted desperately to close his eyes, to stop looking at the screen, to just faint and make it stop...

...and then it did.

The movie stopped and he was back in darkness. Isolated and quiet.

The sound of a door opening was lost to Logan's ears, as the voice of the narrator kept playing in his mind.

_Snap! Snap!_

The sound of someone snapping there fingers around his ears zipped Logan upright, his body tense.

"Whoa! Easy, easy." A voice sounded out from the side of him, a hand reaching around to take out the clips. "Good, you can hear." The man cleared his throat as he came into view, the same Italian suit guy from before. He pulled out a chair, slowly sitting down across from Logan, his hands firmly clasped together.

"What's your name?" The man asked, tilting his head to the side.

Logan blinked a few times, his eyes watering due to the inability to close them. "Uh, L-Logan. Logan Walker."

The man smiled. "Good. Do you know where you are?"

Logan blinked a couple more times, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He knew he knew where he was, he just couldn't quite put his finger on it.

_This is strange. _

"Yeah, yeah. No, I-I know where I am...I'm uh..." Logan cursed himself for being forgetful, especially since the whole situation felt off.

_I was in a cage, no, pit. Yes, pit. And I, uh, I was being held there...Why? Why was I being held there? I was part of an elite team, Ghosts. Ghosts! Wait, I'm in a Federation prison camp! _

Logan snapped his eyes back to the man sitting across from him, who had been patiently waiting. "I'm-I'm in your little shit-hole. You sick piece of Federation-mmmff!"

"Again." The man abruptly interrupted Logan's sentence, his head glancing to the side as he stuffed a piece of gauze in Logan's mouth. With a firm hand, he replaced the clips and walked back out of sight.

The room was once again filled with bright images of children playing, the Federation flag blowing in the wind, and jovial parties of celebration followed by the same female voice.

Logan braced himself for the barrage as he had no choice but to watch it again, losing focus quickly in the chaotic haze of it all. This was a whole new form of torture.

It wasn't physical at all.

It was purely a battle of the mind and soul.

* * *

David "Hesh" Walker really wished it didn't have to be Venezuela. Especially Caracas. The hot, arid waves of heat were nothing short of blazing. The air condition didn't help, and Kick had downed the last two water bottles while on morning reconnaissance.

It was a trying experience, to say the least. But Hesh didn't let the insane heat dampen his spirits. He couldn't afford to be distracted now, not when he was so close to the end. After seven months of searching, the trail had led him here.

To Caracas, Venezuela.

Hesh remembered the last time he was in this city. He'd been scaling skyscrapers with Keegan and Logan. It was also the first time he'd had the chance of speak to Rorke, albeit the man was hiding behind a television screen. Normally, Hesh would have loved to visit the beautiful city under less dire circumstances. To soak in the scenery and just enjoy sitting back, drinking some exotic sparkling fruit juice.

This wasn't a vacation though.

This was a rescue mission.

Hesh's baby brother was somewhere in the city, or had been at least. He hoped beyond hope that they hadn't missed him again. Each time they closed in on his location, it seemed that the Federation had dodged them by seconds. It was aggravating.

It was above aggravating, it was maddening.

Hesh had put Logan's responsibility on his shoulders. _His _shoulders. After dad died, they were all the family they had. Rorke had taken their father from them, so they were gonna take his life. Sounded just.

But Rorke was much tougher than either of them expected. He'd been shot and drowned, but the man rose up from the dead like...well, a ghost.

It was scary, intimidating, to be up against such a brutal enemy. Hesh didn't allow himself to be frightened though. Not when Logan was out there somewhere, dead or dying at the hands of the Ghost Killer.

Now Rorke had taken two of Hesh's blood, and it was enough for the older brother of the Walker family to snap a little. He'd been helpless, _helpless, _to do anything as he watched his brother get taken from him.

Had Merrick arrived not two minutes sooner, that wouldn't have happened. Rorke would've been taken into custody, and the Federation would be crumbling right now. But Hesh couldn't let himself blame Merrick, for it wasn't the man's fault.

No, it was his fault for not being there when Logan needed him the most. For not fighting to his last breath for his brother's safety.

Now, Rorke had run back behind enemy lines to hide like the coward he was. God knew how many allies he'd called upon, because for some reason the Federation had maintained a good defensive. They'd held their ground at the border of South America, stopping American forces from advancing.

It was another stand-off.

Hesh found it ironic that the Federation was now on the defensive, the United States on the offensive. It was a complete role-reversal. A game changer.

In spite of how thick the Federation checkpoints were, the Ghosts always found a way inside. There'd been news of a special "package" to be transported every three days around the continent. They'd tracked it from Cuba, to Guatemala, to Puerto Rico, and finally here.

It took months of following, picking up the trail, but they'd done it. They'd found him.

It seemed fitting that they were holding Logan in the Federation capital, in some strange inexplicable way.

This was where it all began, and this was where Hesh would finish it.

"Bravo Team, check in." Hesh spoke into his mic, resting a finger on his ear for relay. "_This is Bravo Team, all clear." _Merrick's voice broke through the static, causing a brief flood of relief to course through Hesh's veins.

"Thought you'd gone dark, had me worried there for a second." Hesh mused, a sly smile spreading across his face as he adjusted the straps on his guns.

"_Ah, I'm insulted. What do you take me for? Kick?" _

Hesh heard a scoff in the background, probably from the second youngest member of the Ghosts, Kick.

Hesh chuckled as he moved his head towards the west of his position. "Charlie? You there?"

"_Would't miss it for the world, boss." _Came the crisp reply from Keegan, the Ghost's residential sniper.

After Logan had been taken, Hesh was promoted to command for the mission to find him. It seemed right, he was his brother after all.

Clamping the clip into his FN SCAR, Hesh prepped himself for breaching.

"We breach on my mark...

3..."

"_Eyes tight inside, we don't know how many are in there." _

"_I count three at the front. Two on the right of you Merrick, Kick take the guy on the left." _

"2..."

"_Stay frosty, I got your back Kick."_

"_I know how to handle myself, thank you very much." _

"1..."

"_Let's go get our Ghost back." _

"Mark!"

Hesh heard the sound of Merrick and Kick blasting open the front door, followed by what seemed like a bunch of Spanish obscenities. Hesh didn't let himself think about it as he let go of the railing he was gripping, falling backwards through the air as the rappel rope eased his way down.

With a splintering crash of glass, Hesh broke through the skylight above his fellow Ghosts, firing down on the Federation soldiers as soon as he got his bearings.

"_Down the hall!" _

He heard Keegan in his earpiece, meaning the sniper was zip-lining in. The sound of a window breaking, followed by more gunfire, meant that his assumption was right.

"Tango down! All clear!" Hesh shouted out as the foyer of the safe-house had been purged. Broken potted plants lay to and fro, dirt matted the stone floor and carpets. Unbuckling himself from the rope, Hesh fell in with Merrick and Kick as the two of them swerved down the hall.

Keegan was waiting by a freight elevator. "I hear movement down there, probably spooked as hell by the commotion we caused. How about we put their minds at ease."

Kick smirked as he placed his back against the wall, tapping Keegan's shoulder. "Hell yeah, man."

Hesh raised his weapon as he nodded for Merrick to call the elevator.

_Ding! _

All four Ghosts immediately raised their guns in the metal box, finding it empty. "Clear." Hesh whispered, motioning with two fingers to go forward. Keegan and Kick entered first, remembering the plan as they got to work planting C4 on the walls of the elevator.

As they did so, Merrick turned to face Hesh, his eyes stormy behind the mask. "You sure you're ready for this? It's hella risky, and that's an understatement. The explosion could kill everyone down there..."

"That's kinda the point." Kick jumped in from inside the small box.

"..._including _our boy." Merrick continued, ignoring the young Ghost.

Hesh kept looking on, his eyes vacant.

_He's down there. I know it. He's gonna be fine, he's tough. He's a Walker, and they don't break. _

"I've thought about that, believe me." Hesh finally answered. "But if I know anything about my brother, it's that he's one tough son of a bitch. And if he's down there, he knows we're coming. He's ready. I'm ready. We're ready." Hesh looked at his fellow soldiers, fellow friends, fellow brothers.

"So I say let's blow these Feds to hell, am I right?"

Merrick let out a court grunt as he raised his assault rifle, giving Hesh a small nod. He could also see Keegan pumping his chest while Kick did a small fist pump. "Fuck yeah, man!"

Hesh smiled at his group, thankful for all the loyalty they'd shown him. Whenever he needed them, they were there. He didn't have to ask, they just showed up. It was kind of annoying sometimes, especially when Kick pulled pranks, but Hesh knew they were only trying to help him get through this rough patch.

"Stand back guys, things are about to get loud." Hesh pulled out the C4 detonator, flicking the switch as he braced himself for the explosion. "Send it down." Keegan pushed the button as he quickly exited the freight lift, Kick hot on his heels.

The moments that passed as it descended only invigorated Hesh to his full potential. He was about to steal back what was rightfully his. His bloodline was not something the Federation could play with, something Rorke could constantly muse himself with.

He'd already lost one family member. Hesh wasn't ready to lose two.

_Ding! _

"Boom."

The resounded explosion shook the ground underneath them, screams of surprise and horror as the Federation soldiers below were met with fire as the elevator doors opened.

"Hook up!" Hesh ordered as his squad moved forward, Keegan and Merrick unzipping their backpacks. Rappel wire and harness clips were presented in front of Hesh, who quickly got to work strapping himself in.

Once everyone had done so, they began lowering themselves down the elevator shaft. The flames licked the walls on the bottom floor, casting a mysterious glow around the dark shadows. It was almost supernatural.

_Please be alive. Please be alive. _

Hesh kept repeating the phrase over and over again like a mantra, even as his boots hit the ground and he strapped off the harness. The Ghosts moved through the fire like a majestic stallion, stepping over the flaming debris.

Hesh heard the sharp grunts of pain as any Federation soldier who was still alive was promptly executed by bullet.

The whole room was clear, the only thing untouched was a small hatch on the far side of the east wall.

"This must be it." Kick commented as they surrounded the metal door, each Ghost examining it over for anything suspicious.

Hesh instantly realized that Logan could very well be on the other side of that door, and the thought of his long-lost brother being so close was unbearable. The only thing that separated them now was iron and steel. Not wasting anytime, Hesh found himself subconsciously walking up to the door and wrapping his hand around the latch.

Another hand met his, and Hesh looked up to find Merrick locking eyes with him. "You sure you're ready? You might not like what you find, Hesh."

Hesh grimaced at the words, even though he knew the truth behind them. It was possible that they were too late, and that Logan was already gone. Or worse, his mangled body was waiting behind that door. But either way, Hesh had to find out.

He had to know.

Hesh's answer was a firm yank on the latch, causing the door to creak open with a hiss. The silence that followed was palpable. Raising his SCAR, Hesh slowly strode into the dark room, eyes searching for something familiar.

The Ghosts flowed in, single file. Each one ready for a straggler they might have missed in the initial sweep.

_Hiss!_

The sound of a flare lighting up made Hesh inwardly flinch. The red glare shone around the room, revealing old bandages and gauze strewn about on the floor. A lone chair was in the room, a bench behind it.

Reaching the bench, Hesh saw Keegan fumble around with something. A moment later a dim fluorescent light flickered on overhead.

The room was bare, save for some dried blood stains were on the chair and floor.

"Clear, he's not here." Merrick voice out the obvious, as someone had to.

_No. NO! We were so damn close! _

"Son of a bitch!" Hesh didn't hide his disappointment, slamming his fist down on the bench in fury. All this way for an empty room with a chair. It was cruel, how Rorke taunted him. Making sure to move Logan about _just _ahead of them. The sadist.

"Judging by these blood stains, I'm guessing we missed him by no less than two days. Looks like they left in a hurry." Keegan bent down, rubbing his fingers along the red trails.

"That's another two days they've had him." Hesh spoke through gritted teeth, lowering his head so that it rested on the metal.

He'd failed again. This was the fourth safe-house they'd cleared, and each time the gap they missed him by was diminishing. But it still wasn't enough. They had to do better.

"Don't worry, boss. We're close, they must know it too. I'm bettin' they're all pissing their pants right now, hoping we don't find 'em again." Kick chirped up. Hesh appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood, but he could still hear it in his voice. He could feel the mood of the room.

They'd failed Logan...but not for good. There was still hope.

"Hey, check this out." Hesh looked up to see Merrick facing the wall, his eyes scanning the area. Hesh hand't noticed it at first, but on the wall were a series of pictures, all of a man strapped down on a chair, a hood pulled over his their head.

_Oh my God..._

Even though he couldn't see his face, Hesh just knew it was him. It had to be.

Logan.

_Damn you, Rorke. _

The man was definitely toying with them. Leaving the pictures was just as good as a punch to the gut, a jaunt on how close they were. There were other pictures too, of torture instruments, bloodied bandages, and other nasty items.

There were also pictures of Rorke talking to another man, a tall guy in a suit. The man had sunglasses over his eyes, his demeanor steady. The guy looked multi-racial, as if a cross from Hispanic and some other nationality. Hesh had never seen this man before, nor did he care who he was.

If he was a friend of Rorke's, he was going down.

"Look at this." Merrick lifted up a clipboard, attached to it a ripped piece of paper with numbers and dates. "I know where he's going."

Hesh definitely felt his spirits lift at this, his body standing upright as he faced the Ghost.

"Where." It wasn't a question, it was a demand.

"Lima, Peru."

Hesh let the location sink in, his breathing slowing down as he felt the weight of the gun in his hands.

Peru, Logan was on his way to Peru.

_Hold on, Logan. Just stay strong. We're coming for you._

* * *

Creed was surprised by the prisoner's durability. You'd think spending six months in a small hole in the earth would've broken some people's spirits, but not his. Not even Rorke took this long to crack, but then again Rorke didn't have anything to lose.

This young Ghost was clinging to the hope, the mere idea, that his good ol' brother would come barging in to rescue him.

It was wishful thinking, plain and simple.

_He'll break. They always break under me. _

Creed inwardly smiled as he watched the seventh play-through of the Federation video, Logan's eyeballs glued to the screen in front of him. Even if the kid couldn't tell, it was beginning to turn him.

Each time Creed entered the room and began asking questions, his responses were less sure. They were doubtful, which was music to Creed's ears.

The symphony of lies was always the universe's greatest masterpiece.

One could think themselves unstoppable, a mountain of courage, sturdy as a wall. Well, throw them in a ditch for half a year, then take them out and subjugate them to exaggerated propaganda.

Phase Three, mental deterioration of the subject through brainwashing. All you had to do was weaken their body enough so they couldn't resist, hence the Amazon pit. It was almost too easy to enjoy.

_Almost. _

Creed personally thought the video was horrendous. Who even did half the stuff in that? Nobody! It was ridiculous gag, a laughing stock in the Federation economy. But, somehow it worked. Somehow the Director had made this video work. It must trigger some mental neuron strain in the physique, Creed didn't know.

He honestly didn't care. He'd never had to watch it before, and the earplugs helped block the noise.

From the room behind the mirror, Creed analyzed the situation with earnestly. Time was a luxury that they couldn't afford at the moment. It was only a matter of time before the Ghosts figured out the trail they were following was a fake.

And then they would find him, and shut down the plan before it even began.

_Rorke wasn't kidding when he said the Walker family would be a pain in the ass. For once the lug was actually right. Huh, go figure. _

As if on cue, the man of the hour popped up on the video conference Creed had opened. "_You wanted to talk to me." _

Creed noticed the obvious lack of "Sir" in the sentence, no doubt a minimal insult.

_Well fuck you, too. _

"I wanted a run-down of your situation. Have you reached Lima yet?"

Rorke grunted, leaning forward while running a hand across his scar. "_We touch down tomorrow morning."_

"Good. I think it's time we wrapped up this loose end, however. I don't want this situation spiraling out of control."

Rorke seemed annoyed by that remark.

_Good. _

"_What? You don't trust me?" _Creed almost rolled his eyes. Like he'd trust that man with a toaster oven. _"I think we should keep baiting 'em. Let them soak in their small victory before pulling the rug out from under, n' feed 'em to the sharks." _Rorke grinned, and Creed had no doubt in his mind that the former Ghost was imagining such an image.

"No, I want this dealt with while we still have the upper hand. You are to spring the trap in Peru, then return to Castle for debrief. I want this tight. The invasion force needs to be swift and brutal, and I need everyone focused while we plot it out. There's no room for error." Creed could tell Rorke was uncomfortable with the idea. The brute probably wanted to pull a few more strings with Hesh, but Creed had other concerns than his agent's feelings.

If the Ghosts caught wind that they were being set up, they'd bolt, and then he'd lose his only chance of striking. The only reason they hadn't was because Hesh was driven to finding his brother.

Yet again, his mother's quote rang true. Hesh's greatest strength was his family, yet it was also his greatest weakness. The older brother was so blinded by the thought of rescuing Logan that he failed to see what was right in front of him.

It was like taking candy from a baby.

But Creed knew he had to end it now, before the Ghost grew a brain and realized what was _really _going on.

"Rorke, am I clear?" Creed raised his voice, his face taking a more sour expression.

Rorke seemed to be amused by that. "_Last I checked, I didn't take orders from you."_

Creed felt his blood rise.

_You son of a..._

"Let us not forget that it was _you _who failed the Federation in the first place. _You're _the reason the Director called me in to clean up your mess, a mess that almost cost us this war! And if you have a problem with that, go and call the Director. I'm sure she'd be happy to take your complaint before promptly having you executed for insubordination."

Creed leaned into the screen now.

"So just shut up and do your fucking job. _I'm _calling the shots now, get used to it."

Rorke just snarled. "_I ain't afraid of you Creed, you better watch your tongue. The Ghosts will meet their end in Peru, count on it, but I do things my way. I'll be in touch." _

"Rorke! You will not back talk your commanding-"

The video feed cut out, signaling that Rorke had ceased communication. Creed let a grimace spread across his face.

_Ungracious fucker. _

It was no secret that the two of them had their arguments, even having tried to kill each other on two separate occasions. But they were both the best of what they did. Creed, giving orders, and Rorke, following them.

Creed knew the Director was probably pairing him up with the agent just to spite him. They were most likely laughing in their socks, despite the fact the Federation was weakening.

_Pig-headed, ungracious fucker. _

Venting his frustration through his thoughts, Creed turned back to look out the one-way mirror. Logan was resting, having just finished the video segment.

_Time to up the ante. _

"Again."

The bright light must've startled the Ghost, as his body jerked back once the images reappeared.

Creed smiled behind the tainted glass, his face twisting into a devious grin as the narrator explained how the Federation founded itself on honest principles of trust and dignity.

_Trust and dignity. What a load of bullshit._

* * *

**Author's Note: **Whew! So that was fun to write, and I hope you all enjoyed reading it. Sorry if it isn't entirely grammar error free, as I got this out in a hurry. I'll be going back over it with a fine comb, but for now it is what it is.

Creed's breaking Logan, Rorke's planning a trap, and Hesh is on a quest.

Please leave a favorite or review, thanks. Until next time!


	3. Chapter 2: The Lost Are Not Forgotten

**Author's Note:** Hey all! I'm incredibly thankful for all of those who reviewed and read my story. It truly warms my heart to know I have such darling praise. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter. It took me a little longer than I thought, but I got it out! There are some dramatic scenes ahead, so I just wanted to throw in a warning in case you don't like such things.

Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Call of Duty or any of its characters. Only Mr. Creed is mine.

* * *

**CALL OF DUTY: ForeFront**

**Chapter 2: The Lost Are Not Forgotten**

* * *

The dimly lit walls of the bunker showered down a cascade of shadows.

There was a reason the Amazon was chosen for the indoctrination grounds of Federation spies, and not just on its isolation from civilization. While that played a large part in the division process, it wasn't the sole purpose Creed chose to construct it there.

No, it was for a much less subtle explanation. The sounds. Strange, it seemed, to place a bunker one mile under ground in the biggest rain forest in the world, based only on the fact that it had a lot of noises.

But that's what made it so special. Creed could listen to the singing of the birds for years to come, day in and day out. It was music in its purest form, a ballade of professional orchestral notes sung in perfect harmony.

Yet funnel the singing a mile down under and the noise comes out distorted and ruptured. Like a howling shriek of misery and depression. The echoes added to the overall harshness of the tone.

Hence why Creed recorded the sounds and played them over and over again to the breaking form of Logan Walker. The mere way his prisoner's body twitched and swiveled when a pleasant chirp turned into an unbearable scream was sickening.

Creed was many things. A sadist wasn't one of them. He took no immense pleasure from other's pain and suffering, unlike a certain someone who was currently in Peru doing his bidding.

_That cretin probably is taking his darling time, just to spite me. The insolence of it all. I'll have his head one day, there's no avoiding it. I don't care if I have to go through the Director myself. _

The latter of his thoughts weren't entirely true, Creed knew so. He was just ranting in a mental fashion, preferring not to voice his obscenities aloud for the world to hear. Then he'd _really _have to go through the Director, but not in an honorable way. Truth be told, that woman scared Creed half to death.

Only half though, the other half was defiant yet admirable of her. She'd gotten her position in the Federation same as he, by stepping on the less fortunate's throats. They didn't climb the ladder, they skipped rungs.

The rule book was thrown out the window.

Despite the similarities of method, the two couldn't be more different. Creed preferred a laid-back planning stage, a calm before the storm before a brutal uprising. Strike quickly and without mercy.

The Director preferred a gorilla-tactic style warfare, which was ludicrous. She wanted to use her puppets to sacrifice themselves for bigger plays. Like lambs to the slaughter. It was effective, but unnecessarily gory. The Federation didn't have to gut themselves to begin anew, all they had to do was make a re-organized effort of attack.

The invasion plans were proof of that. If everything went according to plan, and it _would, _America was about to suffer the greatest casualty estimates since World War II.

And if Rorke did his part correctly, which Creed had a sinking feeling he wouldn't, the Ghosts would be dead and unable to stop the Federation's onslaught. Without the Ghosts, America wouldn't stand a chance against the invasion force.

It would be a massacre on both sides, of course, but the payoff would be well worth the death toll.

_Sometimes the price of victory is high. _

That was another quote from Creed's parents. This time his father, however. The Russian Spetsnaz soldier who'd fallen for a Brazilian black op commander. Their relationship was a spectacular merge of both country and duty, as his father was actually ordered to kill his mother.

How different the world would be if he had.

The training Creed had to suffer through as a child was something that haunted his dreams to this day. No man should be that unforgiving in training someone on how to kill. Especially if that someone was an eight year old boy who was also your son.

Creed cringed as he remembered how his father would react when he failed to meet expectations, when he failed to impress. The first time was when he flopped on a disarming technique, suffering a blow to the gut by his father's boot.

"_Son, you cannot fail to falter in your advance." _

The firm, yet stern, clear voice of his father had a shuddering effect on the inquisitor.

Those words...

"_You cannot." _

Putting his childhood aside for the moment, in hopes of brighter future, Creed relaxed as he remembered his father was dead. The man couldn't hurt him anymore, same went with his mother.

The two of them were like an ominous cloud of doubt that lingered after his silhouette, dampening his spirits on a bright day. Though in some ways, they also gave him strength. The strength to move on from his past, to forget the wrongs both his parents committed in raising him into the Federation.

But he'd never forgive. Not as long as his lungs were still breathing, and his heart was still beating.

Actually, the only other person who intimidated Creed other than his bloodline was the Director. The woman was demanding for results at the moment. Creed didn't like to be pressured. It took the fun out of stalking his prey, of draining their will and hope.

No, she wanted fast updates. So far, it'd been seventeen days since the indoctrination process began. Each time the video was played in front of the prisoner, his will was chipped down a piece. It was a slow but sure progression.

Unfortunately, Logan was strong for someone of so nimble a stature. It utterly perplexed Creed, and the man found himself somewhat respecting the Ghost.

The boy was loyal, an honorable trait.

True loyalty was hard to come by these days. What, with everyone out for themselves it was like a free-for-all melee. Some fought with bullets and steel, others with words and false promises. War existed everywhere, whether or not people chose to believe it.

The idea of life being a battlefield wasn't far from the truth, or was that love?

Either way, life was about survival of the fittest. Something Creed thought he excelled at.

"Let's get down to brass tacks." He finally let out, folding his arms as he leaned forward in his chair, producing a loud creak from the rusty metal. "The truth, Mr. Walker, is that we need your help. The Ghosts have been brutally terrorizing our cities on a quest for bloodlust. We need your expertise to put a stop to them."

"And why should I trust you? What makes you any different then them?" Logan's answer took some time to come out, but eventually the young man managed to croak out the two sentences.

Creed could tell he was just barely hanging on to the ledge. All it took was just a soft push in the wrong direction to send him toppling down.

"We're not murderers." Creed said flat out, his posture rising in a proud manner. "We don't encourage pointless killing. These Ghosts, they're on a vendetta against us. They have no regulation, no rules, no mercy."

"And you're so different?" The disbelief could be smelled a mile away, and it was a stench that Creed had an incredible distaste for.

"Yes, Mr. Walker, we are. We have a code that we follow, to-"

"-bring peace to all the world. Yeah, yeah. Your video keeps telling me that." Logan sighed, moving his head back as he gave his interrogator a long, hard stare. "Look, I get that you want me to help you catch these guys, but I don't even know how to begin. And I have family in the Ghosts, I won't hurt my brother. I won't betray my country."

Creed smiled at this. Fortunately, the brainwashing was beginning to remove Logan's determination to remain steadfastly against the Federation's methods, and it was making him much more willing to conversation. It was the baby steps of convincing him to defect against America.

Not an entirely easy process once it is put in motion. But then again, nothing is as it seems.

That was key thinking when dealing with the Ghosts. Creed knew that there was a plausible possibility that Logan was just faking being compelled, and that he was secretly plotting to be a mole in the Federation's organization.

A _very _important mole.

That was something Creed could not allow. He had to be one hundred percent certain that Logan Walker was entirely under Federation control, not the other way around.

The Director would have his head on a silver platter if he managed to underestimated his opponent, letting Logan get the drop on all of them, then selling them out to the Ghosts. There would be hell to pay for that. The only good side to that outcome, as far as Creed could see, was that Rorke would be dragged down with him.

But that traitor was exceptionally good at deception. He'd managed to fool the Ghosts into thinking he was dead for ten years, a feat that no other man Creed knew had accomplished. It was impressive, despite his bitter resentment to the man.

Rorke was still a tool, however. A valuable and expensive tool, but a tool nonetheless. It could not be said that a former Ghost took down the United States, especially two former Ghosts. That would make the Federation look weak and desperate for help, so they turn to their rivals for support.

No.

It had to be an actual Federation owned, government executive. A higher-up. That meant either the Director or him would take the credit for their victory. And knowing the Director, it was most likely not going to be a shared power. She was just about as greedy and ambitious as Creed himself.

If not more.

And that was why Creed found that _she _was his greatest rival. Not the Ghosts, not America, not even Rorke. No, his superior was the true threat. She had him in the palm of her hand though, Rorke too.

Every move he made was dictated by her. When the invasion was over, and America was reduced to a burning wasteland, she would discard her puppets with a vengeance. But she wouldn't kill him, Creed knew that.

He was too valuable an ally, and too dangerous an enemy to make. For despite their misgivings of each other, they both knew the benefits of working together.

"_Sometimes the worst enemies make the greatest allies. Everyone can be bought over, you just have to find the type of currency they're interested in." _

Another parent quote to throw in there. His mother always had a way of reading people. She could tell everything about a person within five seconds of looking at you. Whether or not you'd last in combat, how strong you are both mentally and physically, and how great your culinary skills were.

Just about everything.

Creed remembered the first words she ever spoke to him.

"_You're my blood, chico. You're my soul, my mind, my spirit. You're a manipulator, a coward, a demon with words." _

Her soft smile, the way her lips parted to reveal a hardened grin.

"_You'll do just fine." _

There were was no loving comfort to the words, Creed always felt that. The she looked at him whenever he was near, as if he was a weapon. A another dull blade in her arsenal of personal affects.

Though she was right. He'd turned out just fine. In fact, he was _exactly _how she predicted he'd turn out. It was slightly scary to think of how someone, even if they were close to you, could foresee your future.

It was nothing more than superstitious bullcrap, nothing else. The world didn't have time for fortune tellers and gypsies. Just a waste of space.

"I admire your loyalty, Mr. Walker. Though I think you'll find that that loyalty is misplaced." Creed's smile widened at the apparent look of confusion Logan was making at him.

"What do you mean?"

Creed licked his lips in feigned hesitation as he placed his hands on the table in front of them. "What do you know about your father, Logan? About the Ghosts?"

The edge of suspicion was back on Logan's face, Creed could see the subtle change in the man's eyes. The topic of his deceased father was still a sore one, Creed could relate. It took him almost two years to cope with his death, even though he hated the man. And it wasn't out of misplaced love.

Because he was the one pulling the trigger, metaphorically of course. Creed didn't know if he could live with himself if he actually physically killed his parents. But setting them up for the fall was almost as hard.

It was the betrayal that stung the most. Like an icy dagger driven straight to the heart...

"Logan, please."

That seemed to give the Ghost a push in answering the question, albeit Creed could tell he was incredibly reluctant.

"I know that my father was the leader of the Ghosts, that he led their ops for over ten years, and I know that Rorke put a bullet in his brain while making me watch."

The stream of words were so calm, so serene, that to anyone else it would seem that Logan had accepted his father's death. Though Creed saw through the facade, that the young man was stung with bitterness at the mention of Elias Walker. Especially at that last phrase, the hatred was palpable.

"Is that all you know?"

Logan scoffed at this, obviously annoyed. "Yes, that's all. I could go on about how brave and honorable my father was, how he was one of the strongest men I've ever known, and that it was an honor above all honors to work with him. And to be his son, the way his eyes lit up with pride whenever I passed a test, it was the best reward I could hope for. But your lapdog took that man away from us, took him down and executed him. Like a wounded dog! Rorke deserves to rot in hell for eternity for what he did to my dad, and you expect me to join you?!" Logan snarled, his face full of mockery.

The young man shook his head, his face stern. "Piss off."

"Mr. Walker, I'm just trying to help you understand the truth about your family. There are things that-"

"I said piss off, you Fed piece of shit!" Logan snapped forward, only to be restrained by his binds to the chair. This seemed to only anger Logan further as he started to writhe around, a pathetic and futile attempt at wiggling free. It was utterly beneath Creed to laugh at such a display.

Instead, Creed sighed as he looked down at the hard metal of the table, his shoulders falling into a more relaxed state of mind. "Again."

Logan's eyes widened as he suddenly jerked backward, the distorted sounds of the animals above causing him to cringe and cry out in agony as his thoughts were jumbled. The Federation video popped on again, the female narrator relaying all the fine points of what made the nation so great.

Creed had his earplugs in already, his back facing Logan as he looked on as if in deep thought. "It doesn't have to be so cruel, Mr. Walker!" He shouted above the noise, seeing this as another opportunity to try and get something out of the boy.

"You don't have to seclude yourself! You can rise up against the inner demons that cloud your thoughts, make you weak and defenseless! The truth is, that you refuse to hear, is that your father was a man convicted of corrupt morals! He had no empathy for his victims. No empathy for murdering them, as you so eloquently put it, like a wounded dog. He was a monster, Logan! A fiend! A blight on humanity that had to be eradicated!"

Creed couldn't see Logan, but he could hear the man squirming like a fish out of water. It was working, the combined efforts of the hypnosis and talking was having some effect on his ability to resist.

"I don't believe you! You're a liar, a fucking liar!" Logan screamed back, the fury and anger unmistakable in his voice.

"Let me prove it to you, Logan! This is something you need to know." Creed smiled at the last part, his devious mind already concocting the best method of how to get further inside of Logan's mind.

The video ended and the lights went off, the silence only broken by the heavy breathing of Logan, followed by a soft whisper. If it wasn't so quiet already, Creed probably wouldn't have heard it.

"Show me."

_Bingo. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. _

"I'm sorry?" Creed finally said, the smugness not shying from his tone. "Could you repeat that?"

"I said...show me...show me your proof."

* * *

Peru wasn't that much nicer than Venezuela. The same heat, the same humidity, and the same waiting.

Just waiting.

Waiting for something, _anything, _to happen. Any sign, clue, or tiny detail that the Ghosts might've missed. Though they were always thorough, and always prepared. Nothing went unnoticed, every single move was analyzed and calculated. It was why they were the best of the best, and why they were the ones pushing down the Federation's doors.

It had taken a lot of time to mangle around all the checkpoints and security sweeps to finally make it to Lima. Apparently, the package had been delayed, meaning it gave the Ghosts extra time to prepare.

Which was good, for as soon as Hesh had reached Lima, he realized that they'd need it.

It was like Fort Knox in the city. Guards swept by every hour, only to be replaced by another detail of troops in the five minute interval it took to swap patrols. Whoever was running security was doing a top notch job.

It was about time they were presented with a challenge though. With everything being so easy along the way, Hesh enjoyed the new thrill of actually having to use his skills.

The heightened security was also a sign that they were on the right track. If Rorke was personally handling his brother's interrogation, that meant that the Ghost Killer would be arriving in Peru along with the package.

Whether or not they were separate or together, Hesh didn't know. He didn't care, honestly. Because his sights were set on one objective, one goal, one priority.

Rescue Logan.

That was all that mattered at the moment, not Rorke. Despite the urge to take that bastard down, if it meant straying from mission directive, Hesh wouldn't do it.

_Besides, there'll be plenty of times afterwards to try. _

And there were going to be times after this mission was over, Hesh was forcing himself to think that. There could be no second-guessing right now. If he got too intense with this, he'd lose sight of what really mattered. And that was rescuing his brother, not getting revenge for his father's death.

Rorke would get his, soon. Just not today.

However, if Rorke was in the same room with Logan, that meant taking two birds with one stone. Get revenge and rescue his brother. That was the preferred outcome of what was most likely not going to happen.

It was incredible wishful thinking, Hesh knew that. But he couldn't help himself from hoping. It was what got him this far in the first place.

It surprised him how powerful that one feeling could be.

Hope.

Such a fickle thing, yet also so strong. There weren't words to describe it. One could only feel it, feel the power of desperation or determination course through them. For as long as there was hope, Hesh wouldn't give up.

Not on his baby brother, not on a Ghost.

Ghosts don't leave their men behind, it was one of the first things Hesh learned about them when he and his brother joined Keegan and Merrick in rescuing Ajax. He remembered crashing into the stadium and going right up through the seats.

The compelling factor he took away from that was how driven Keegan and Merrick were. Just how hopeful and defendant they were that Ajax was able to handle himself.

Hesh closed his eyes as he had a moment of silence for another fallen Ghost. Another person Rorke had taken from the team.

That list was now at four, and Hesh was determined to make sure his brother didn't share the same fate as the others.

"Yo boss, we're ready to move out."

Hesh turned from his gaze of window-watching to see that Kick had entered the small room he was currently occupying.

The Ghosts had set up shop in a small office complex near the outskirts of Lima. Another one of the unforeseen challenges of meeting a stepped up security system was that they couldn't enter the city with regular methods.

The checkpoints were manned twenty-four-seven under a constant state of surveillance. Sneaking into the city was impossible, as every checkpoint had laser sensors and complete coverage of every possible entry point.

The area was completely locked down.

Anyway in or out was heavily monitored, so therefore the Ghosts had to pass under the radar. And what better way to do that than by passing right under their noses.

"Good. I'll be right there." Hesh smiled at Kick before turning back to face the window. It was early morning, and the sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon.

The pink hue cast a feeling of tranquility around Hesh, as if nothing was wrong. The world was perfect, his brother wasn't missing, his father wasn't dead. He felt as if he had just gotten back from a rigorous forest hike with Logan, coming back to the house to see their father smiling at them on the porch.

The feeling washed over him for a split second before dissipating. Hesh wished he could've enjoyed that moment for a little while longer.

Alas, it was time to move in on the city.

_Peril awaits._

Hesh smirked at the inside comment, turning around as he slowly walked into the main room where Keegan, Merrick, and Kick were waiting patiently.

"Thanks for waiting, guys." Hesh smiled at the team, making his way to the center of the room. A large table was spread out around them, pictures of Rorke, the mystery man, as well as entrance and exit points of the perimeter in Lima.

It was a full out stealth op. No room for any screw ups.

_It's not like our lives depend on it. _

"Alright, here's the plan! We need to obtain enemy uniforms for two of us so that we can commandeer a supply truck. They enter the city every three days, so if we miss our window, Logan's gonna be gone by the time the next supply run comes. This makes our success even more vital."

Everyone nodded.

"So first things first, we need to get into an ambush position around the truck, and take out the two drivers before they're able to call in an attack. Merrick and I will be impersonating checkpoint guards. Once we get the uniforms, we'll change into those." Merrick smirked at the thought of wearing an enemy uniform, apparently amused by the idea.

"Then, Keegan and Kick will enter the back and hide in the supply crates. We'll go through the checkpoint without raising any suspicion, get inside Lima, and then plot out Logan's rescue from there." Hesh finished, looking pleased with the plan.

"I like it." Keegan's firm reply got a rise out of Hesh as the Ghosts nodded their approval, moving over to the make-shift armory they had established to gear up.

Once all weapons, equipment, and explosives had been accounted for, the Ghosts swiftly exited the office complex in a diamond formation. Making their way down the streets at this time of morning wasn't too difficult, as the civilians were just beginning to wake up. Morning traffic wouldn't start in another hour.

For once, time was on their side. Hesh intended to use that to his advantage.

Swiping down a side-alley, Hesh motioned up for Keegan and Kick to get up onto the fire escape. While doing so, he and Merrick attached silencers to their rifles. It was best not to let the enemy know exactly where you were coming from, something that thrilled Hesh the most about the Ghosts.

They struck quickly and accordingly, in the shadows, before vanishing from sight. Hence the namesake: Ghost.

"_I got an eye on two tangos inside the checkpoint booth. Kick on three. One, two, three." _Keegan's voice cut through the radio, followed by two piercing sounds and grunts as the snipers took down the two men inside the guard tower.

The tower was right above a miniature checkpoint box, where another guard was watching what appeared to be a soccer game.

_Well, at least he'll die happy. Or angry, depending on who he's rooting for._

Hesh quietly opened the door with one hand, his other pressed against the trigger of his SCAR. Maneuvering around the frame, Hesh brought himself up behind the man. "Psst. Hey, buddy." The guard must've been scared shitless, because his fumble for a weapon was so utterly panicked that Hesh felt pity for the man he was about to kill.

Not wasting any more time, Hesh stuck his knife out and sliced it right through the man's jugular.

A wet gurgle and some twitching signified that the guard was no more.

"Great. He got the uniform bloody." Hesh groaned, already taking off the jacket and baclava, working his way down to the pants and boots. Once the uniform was fully suited on his body, Hesh got to work washing off any residue of blood from his small scuffle.

Stepping out as he finished strapping the boot on, Hesh saw that Merrick was already finished with suiting up. "ETA on the truck, ten minutes."

Hesh nodded picking up the guard's AK-47 as he began waltzing around as if on watch. Merrick was making a sweep of the area, and Kick and Keegan were providing overwatch. The ten minutes seemed to pass by in slow motion. No one dared to speak, for fear that someone may be monitoring their communications.

"I hope your Spanish isn't rusty." Hesh whispered over to Merrick, who shouldered his weapon.

"If we do this right, we won't need to talk." Hesh could see the Ghost's grin even though is face was covered by a baclava. There was truth to that statement. Talking Spanish was the least of their problems at the moment.

The sound of a honking and tire squeals was the sign that the truck had arrived. "Eyes up. We take them out on my signal." Hesh spoke into his com, walking up to the road with his arms up high.

The truck driver pushed down the brakes, bringing the truck to a halt right in front of the soldier. Nodding at Merrick, Hesh walked around to the driver's side in a slow, deliberate manner as Merrick did the same.

Reaching out a hand, Hesh knocked on the window as the Fed lowered it for him to "speak". Instead of reaching out a hand, Hesh raised the barrel of his rifle to the man's chest. The wide eyes were met with fire as the Fed's body jerked back from two precise hits to the solar plexus, his buddy's body doing the same. "We're clear. Keegan, Kick, get down here." Hesh radioed in as he dragged the body out of the car, moving it across the pavement.

Finding a nice corner to hide it in, Hesh dumped the body in a garbage bin before running back to the truck.

Merrick had disposed of his body as well, while Keegan and Kick got to work putting opening up two supply crates to hide in. "I still don't get why we hafta hide in these bins. Can't we just put on some Fed outfits. We got plenty of dead bodies." Kick remarked, his face grim.

Hesh sighed, patting the man's shoulder. "Like I said, only two people are supposed to be on the supply run. We bring anymore and it'll look suspicious."

Kick grumbled something about stupid protocol before squeezing into a wooden crate, his only company smoked sausage and ham.

Hesh looked over at Keegan, seeing the same look of discomfort from having to squish into so small a space. "You owe me for this." Was his only reply before he closed himself in a pickled pork crate.

Hesh only chuckled as he got into the driver's seat, patting the side of the truck to signal that they were moving out.

The drive up to the checkpoint crossing was a slow and agonizing process. By now, half the city was awake and about on their daily morning routine, civilians going to and fro from grocery shopping to speeding by on motorbikes.

Hesh had to admit that their was a strange beauty to the city of Lima, as the crowed ramparts were much different than the high-class skyscrapers of Caracas. It brought out a whole different side to the Federation that Hesh had never seen before.

The people walking about weren't enemies, they were just factory workers, farmers, grocers, going around to provide for their families. It only sickened Hesh as he realized the poor state these people were in, and that the Federation was squandering their money for personal gain.

Or maybe the poverty was due to their accord. It had never occurred to Hesh before, that America might be the reason these people were living the way they were. That the war was causing harm to innocents. That the Federation was in desperate need of money, and that these people were the only way to obtain said money.

Looking around, seeing all the American hate signs, Hesh figured that the Federation was poising these citizens against them. They were brainwashing them into hate with false propaganda.

It also made Hesh face the bitter reality of how awful war really was. That there were no clear winners, that everyone was affected.

But the Federation was not providing for its people, they were casting them out like an old bicycle.

_They'll pay for this, I swear. _

Hesh was brought back to the present as he saw the checkpoint to Lima up ahead, and that they were already being waved through.

Apparently these guards were so bored they weren't even bothering to check the back. All Hesh had to do was provide a chart of what supplies they were bringing in, not even speak at little bit, say a "Muchos gracias", then be on their way.

It took twenty minutes of driving to be out of Federation surveillance, and it was then that Hesh pulled the truck into a side-street before stopping it.

Making his way to the back, Hesh started to unload the Ghost equipment with Merrick's help. It was only when they had made it up to a dilapidated, high-rise apartment square that Hesh remembered Keegan and Kick. They were still stuffed inside the supply crates.

He looked over to see that Merrick had the same revelation. "You think we should go get them?"

Merrick seemed to ponder the question for a few moments before looking up and shaking his head. "Nah, we don't need to rush. I'm sure they'll figure it out."

They both shared a laugh at that before getting to work on setting up the communication tap. It was a slow process of meddling with wires, hacking into algorithm codes, and bleeding into the Federation surveillance system.

The angry knocking at the door signified that the two crate buddies had managed to break out. Hesh was greeted with the finger as he opened the door. "Dude, not fucking cool."

Kick had ham and beef all in his hair. Keegan faired no better, having strings of pork around his waist like a belt buckle.

Hesh was about to reply when a clear-cut voice cut through the static of the monitoring system Merrick had set up. And it was a voice that Hesh could never forget, a voice that sent a burning hatred through his gut.

"_I don't care how many men it takes, I want the room set up for processing within the next two hours. If you don't have it done by then, I'm gonna be...upset. You got that?" _

Hesh grit his teeth as he listened to the radio chatter, his fists clenched.

"_Y-Yes, sir! Of course, sir!" _

A light chuckle followed.

"_That's great to hear, son. That's great to hear." _

_Rorke. _

It was him.

Gabriel Rorke had arrived in Lima, Peru.

* * *

Logan refused to look at the picture again.

Just seeing it the one time was enough to make him be scarred for life. He had a feeling that whenever he would close his eyes, the image of the child's vacant face would haunt his thoughts.

And it was't the only picture he'd been shown.

His interrogator had pulled out all the stops with this one. It was almost worse than the video they kept playing, the sounds of crazed animals, or even the foreboding silence of just waiting for the next barrage of torture.

But as time went on in this place, this bunker, Logan began questioning if it truly was torture. The Federation seemed to have a reason for keeping him alive, the belief that he'd join forces with them to help bring down his family. It was a ludicrous notion, but Logan was beginning to have his doubts.

The virtues that the Federation stood for, the noble sense of duty and respect, it was admirable. It made him see that perhaps the Federation and the United States weren't all that different with their ideology. They both exaggerated patriotism and dignity, both proclaimed that the other was the true enemy.

But truth was a fickle thing. Good and evil were just matters of perspective and thought. To one side, the other was evil, and vice-versa to the other. The truth was just the majority opinion of a matter. Everything could be questioned and verified.

Logan was starting to question his morals. For how could he ever work for a country that supported the massacre of children? The pictures that the Voice had been showing him were of young boys and girls, all laying dead on the streets, the product of violent strafing runs and shoot-outs.

And worse, the Voice claimed the Ghosts were responsible. That they were being encouraged by the United States government to carry out such attacks, to defeat the enemy by any means necessary.

It was ghastly. It was inhuman, and it needed to be stopped.

That was something that Logan found the Federation agreed with. It had to be stopped, this brutal killing had to end. To cease.

Though Logan still refused to believe that his brother would commit such atrocities, that he'd actually carry out such orders. That was until he heard the recording. It was something that shocked him to the core, made him grieve in disbelief and horror.

There was no way it was true. The recording had to have been forged, but the Voice claimed that it was authentic. Logan knew he was right.

He knew because there were certain subtle, pitch tones that simply couldn't be faked. And his ears were trained to catch up on such frequencies.

The recording was genuine.

"Would you like for me to play it again?" The interrogator spoke up, following Logan's intense silence.

The prisoner broke out of his deep concentration as he shook his head slowly. "No, I-I've heard enough."

His claim seemed to have fallen on deaf ears as the man pushed the "play" button once again.

"_Please! Please don't do this, I can't help you! I don't know what you want!" _Came the frantic cry of what Logan could only surmise to be a helpless civilian.

"_You know exactly what I want. The Federation troops have been circumventing a package around this area, I want to know where it is. I know you've been helping them, I know you're lying to me." _

_Hesh._

His brother's commanding tone was unmistakable, Logan knew it was him.

"_You're wrong! I don't! I have no idea about any package or item! The Federation troops were dropping off supplies for our people, we're just poor farmers!" _

The man's sobs sounded gut-wrenching. They sounded sincere. Logan closed his eyes as he knew what was coming next.

"_You're lying to me again. I don't like lairs. Bring out his daughter." _

"_No! No, she's just a little girl! She had nothing to do with this, leave her out of this!" _

"_If you don't tell me the truth, I'll put a bullet into your daughter's sweet little brain. And I'll make you watch." _

Logan cringed.

"_Daddy? Daddy, what's happening?! I'm scared!" _

"_Sweety, sweety please, look at me. Look at daddy." _The sound of resist and scrapping could be heard. "_You son of a bitch! I told you, I don't know anything. Just please, please don't hurt my baby!" _

Logan let out a breath as he turned to the man standing next to him. "You don't have to keep playing this, I can't hear anymore." He tried to sound calm, but the frantic rush he was feeling was making his voice shake.

"_I'm sorry, but your daughter must pay the price for your lies. You could've saved her, but now you get to watch her die." _

_Hesh, no..._

Logan knew it was useless to try and reason with his brother. It was a recording, and God knew how many more of them there were.

"_God, no! You monster!" _

"_Daddy, help me!" _

"_You failed yourself, and now you pay the ultimate price." _

_God, Hesh! Leave her alone!_

"_Baby, NO-!"_

"YOU SON OF A BITCH, HESH!" Logan shouted out, his nostrils flaring in an anger so intense his whole body was shaking.

He hadn't even realized that his interrogator had turned the recording off, and that the man was looking at him with a deep glare. If Logan wasn't so riled up, he would have seen the small smile on the man's lips.

"The Ghosts are out of control. America is out of control. You can see why we need you, Mr. Walker. If we allow this to continue, we are putting our citizens at risk. It is your duty to uphold the oath you took, to protect America from all evil."

The man kneeled down, looking Logan in the eyes.

"Except now you must protect America from itself."

Logan breathed heavily, his anger residing as he thought about this situation. It was the first time he actually felt a hatred towards his brother, an actual anger and resentment to the man he deeply loved in all the world.

It had scared him how violently he'd responded. Logan didn't know he was capable of feeling such a thing towards his brother. Towards his blood. But he knew that the man was speaking the truth.

America had failed itself. They had lost their way. And even though Logan realized that he must fight against his former allies, he felt guilt. But it was for the greater good, this was for the greater good.

"Where do we start?"

Logan could tell his response brought an immense glee in the man's irises, his mouth twisting upward into a wide smile.

"Follow me."

Logan felt his binds loosen as the interrogator freed him from his restraints.

With a shaky step, Logan Walker rose from his chair a changed man.

He saw the interrogator beginning to leave, though there was still one question he had left. "Hold up." The man turned to face him, his eyebrows raised. "I don't even know who you are."

The man seemed to be expecting this, as he straightened himself out before slowly approaching Logan.

"Then allow me to properly introduce myself."

The man extended a hand.

"Howard Creed."

Logan smiled as he firmly grasped the man's palm.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Creed."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Well, there you are! I hope you like it, I certainly liked writing it. Again, I apologize if there are some grammar or spelling mistakes. I was in a bit of a rush to get this out, so yeah.

Creed and Logan team up! Rorke's arrived! Hesh and the gang are plotting a rescue!

Stay tuned!


	4. Chapter 3: False Trail

**Author's Note: **I'm so happy with the feedback that I've been getting from this story! You guys are the best! That said, I have a big chapter planned for my next update, so keep in mind that it may take me a longer time to update. That is all. I won't keep you guys waiting any longer.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Call of Duty, only my lone OC is mine. Yippee.

* * *

**CALL OF DUTY: ForeFront**

**Chapter 3: False Trail**

* * *

Gabriel Rorke was not a man to be trifled with. He hated it when he didn't get things his way, when he felt as though he was just a pawn on a chess board. It aggravated the former Ghost to no end to not be in control of a situation.

As soon as he felt that the balance of control had shifted, he'd bolt. Stay in a situation that you can't handle, you'd only end up dead. It was a given, by and by. No matter how well trained you were, how talented with a knife you could be, it all ended on the subject of control.

No control, no second chance.

You'd wind up dead with a bullet in your brain. Or worse. The reason Rorke almost drowned at the hands of Elias Walker all those years ago was because he didn't have control of the situation. It wasn't Elias's fault, Rorke knew that, but the man left him to die in Caracas.

The Federation had saved him, and he'd been given a second chance at making things right. Creed had given him a purpose once again, and Rorke knew he owed the inquisitor big time for it.

Loki was just a stepping stone in what would have been the turning point the Federation was looking for. A way to defeat the Ghosts once and for all.

Events didn't play out that way in the end, however.

Instead, Loki was destroyed and now the Federation was weaker than ever. All thanks to two brothers with a vendetta against the man who killed their father. Well, one brother now. The other was theirs, the other had been set free.

Just like he'd been.

Except now Rorke saw things differently.

There had been a change in the natural flow of things. The natural order had been shifted. Creed, who Rorke once saw as a beacon of admiration and respect, was now a withering flame in a world too big for him. The man was washed up, old. He'd served his purpose, he'd given the Federation all he had to offer.

Now there was no use for him. Creed had become obsolete. Yet, the Director refused to appoint him into a position in charge, claiming that Creed was still vital to the operation.

Rorke failed to see how that man was of any importance anymore. He still admired his ability to get the job done, no matter the cost. His loyalty to the Federation was unquestioned, Rorke knew that.

The man had his own _parents _assassinated for treason.

That took guts, and a hell of a lotta courage. Most men wouldn't have been able to go through with it, but Creed just stood by and watched as his bloodline bled out into the pavement.

It was the only time Rorke had seen the man cry. It was a single tear going down his right cheek, but it still qualified as crying.

Though for the moment, Creed was still trying to prove his worth. Well, that wasn't true. The man _knew _his worth, he knew he was important, but Rorke could tell it scared him when that importance would fade.

And then Howard Creed would cease to exist, just like his parents did.

Rorke dreamt of that day, when he would fill in Creed's shoes, when he'd take charge. He was the commander of the hunt for the Ghosts, but it felt like he had no real power. No lasting power. Creed held all that, as Creed was the one giving Rorke orders.

Rorke hated taking orders. Another reason Creed had to go.

It wasn't that the man had done anything personally degenerating to him, in fact he'd given him a second chance at life. Even if Rorke would never truly admit it to Creed's face, he was better than that man could any be. The Inquisitor hadn't been in combat for twenty years.

It was ludicrous that the man even deserved to be in charge of field ops anymore, but that was the job of the Inquisitor. And since Creed still held the title, Rorke was powerless to do _anything _to obtain the power he so rightfully deserved.

So imagine his surprise when he found out that Logan Walker, the freshly turned Federation operative, was going to be his co-commander. He'd received the bulletin earlier in the morning, his outrage apparent to all in voice range.

Gabriel Rorke hated being cheated, and he could just tell that Creed was inwardly laughing at him as he found another way to screw with his head.

For right now Rorke was in a video conference, watching as Logan and Creed poured over blueprints and strategy defense lines. With Logan's recent turning, the man had all the American defense outposts and detection equipment in his memory.

It was an invaluable piece of intelligence, and of course the Director was giving Creed all the praise.

_Even when it was MY idea to turn the kid over to our side...Backstabbing son of a bitch. _

Rorke glanced up from his stupor to see that Logan was whispering something into Creed's ear, which granted another snarl from the Ghost Killer as he knew the two were most likely talking about him.

Another thing to drive him wild, and Creed knew it.

His thoughts were confirmed as Creed cleared his throat, no doubt about to ask him a question he wouldn't be comfortable in answering.

"_Rorke. Our dear Logan here had a question regarding how you were going to handle the Ghost situation. He wishes to know if you plan on capturing his brother or killing him along with the rest of the squad." _

Rorke smirked, letting out a bemused chuckle as he looked at Logan. The young man's head was looking down at a schematic of the Federation invasion plan.

"What? The kid can't ask me himself? Still upset about me killing his ol' man, huh?" Rorke let out another chuckle, shaking his head and rubbing his chin.

It seemed apparent that neither Creed nor Logan were going to answer his questions, and Rorke was absolutely fine with that. He wasn't expecting them to.

"The hotshot isn't getting any special privileges, if that's what you want me to get at." Rorke finally answered, crossing his arms. "By the end of the day, he'll be a charcoal briquette just like his buddies."

Logan didn't seem to react to this at all, instead his gaze into the schematics hardened. Rorke could tell the kid wasn't pleased with his plan, but Rorke wasn't ready to budge on it just because the newly-turned Fed started to get sentimental.

Maybe Creed's job of indoctrination wasn't as good as it was earlier in his youth. But that was a lie, Rorke knew it. He was starting to get desperate for any excuse to see Creed's removal from the plan.

The man didn't deserve any more glory.

"_Logan would prefer if you could spare his brother's life instead of killing him. He understand that the Ghosts need to be stopped, he does. But he's made it abundantly clear to me that he will not bring harm to his brother in any way, shape, or form." _

Rorke felt his irises flare as he let out a dignified breath, his chest rising in anger.

_Now you're gonna dictate me how to run my own ops?! _

"I ain't here to debate how to find the solution to this. You n' I both agreed that the Ghosts needed to be _completely _eliminated in order for our plans to work. That includes the ones back home in the States!"

Creed looked deeply into Rorke's eyes, and Rorke returned the hardened gaze with one of his own. He wasn't going to let this man intimidate him, no matter how much power or support he had from the Director. That bitch was probably fucking Creed on the sidelines, Rorke could smell it.

"_Well it's a good thing that you don't get a say in this." _Logan's voice abruptly interrupted their stare-off. "_He's my brother, my family, and I say you don't kill him." _Logan was now looking Rorke dead in eyes, his face stoic and reserved.

Rorke could feel his anger bubbling up inside, and he had to look away before he let out an outburst that would cause him to be severely reprimanded. "If you think that I'm intimidated by you kid, think again. This ain't a democracy here! The Ghosts pose too big of a threat to let even _one _of 'em live!"

If they didn't understand that, Rorke didn't know would make them. He felt like he was preaching to the converted.

Logan seemed to snort, or at least laugh at his argument. Rorke was had it up to here with that kid's ignorant youth on how to run things in the world. This wasn't a fucking playground where you got to have five minutes of freedom, this was the cold-dead world.

True happiness didn't exist in this place.

There was no room for error, and Logan's stubbornness of wishing for his brother to remain safe was a complete liability. If the fresh agent decided to get cold feet because of this, then Rorke knew he'd have to kill him.

All the hard work of the past three weeks would be undermined, and thoroughly wasted on a project that was Rorke's suggestion. It would be the end of his career, and quite possibly life, if he let this kid single-handedly screw this trap up.

Still, Logan seemed determined to have it his way. He just shook his head, scoffing while walking out of sight as Creed gave Rorke another hard look. "_I'm not going to repeat myself Rorke, you are to make sure David Walker does not perish in the trap we've got planned out. Is that clear? Or do I have to bring the Director into this, I'm sure she'd be happy to give you an answer?"_

Rorke knew he was beat now. The Director would only side with Creed, the two were playing favorites with the other. He swore that that whore was going to get what was coming to her, it was only a matter of time.

The man only let out a slow growl of frustration as he nodded his head in defeat. Creed still seemed suspicious though, as the man kept looking at him with an undeterred face. "_I want you to say it." _

_Oh, so now I have to be your puppy?_

Rorke rolled his head, forcing himself to look Creed in the eyes. "Alright. The kid lives, happy?" He didn't try and keep the irritation out of his voice, and it made him feel better to make things as difficult as possible for Creed.

"_Say. It." _

Creed articulated every word through gritted teeth, his eyes narrowing. Rorke smiled as he realized he was getting under the man's skin.

"Alright, _Sir." _

Creed didn't seem happy with the answer, as he knew Rorke was still faking it, but he looked pleased that he managed to make the Fed actually address him as 'sir'.

"_Good. Logan will be pleased. You can proceed whenever you are ready, we'll be waiting for results by the end of the day. And for both our sakes, I pray you aren't lying to me." _Creed paused, adjusting his collar. "_Good luck, Rorke. Dismissed." _

And with that, the video call ended. Rorke was once again left alone to his thoughts, his mind wandering as he grumbled under his breath. As he was leaving the teleconference, Rorke made the slightest grin possible at the moment.

He had no intention of honoring his agreement. Sparing any Ghost, even Logan's brother, was a disastrous lapse of judgement. You gave the Americans a quarter of power, and the Ghosts would just find a way to rise back up.

Rorke himself was just one Ghost. One. And he'd managed to overthrow the Ghosts leader and send them into turmoil. Creed failed to realize just how strong the power of revenge really was.

Revenge had almost killed him when Logan and Hesh had attacked him on that train. They had Loki hit them directly, sending the whole damn thing off the rails. Only someone as driven with revenge as they had been would do something that reckless.

No, Hesh was going to die with the rest of his men, like an honorable soldier should. There were no exceptions just because he was some agent's brother. He was an enemy combatant, and he was going to fall with the rest of America. Rorke thought Logan would understand that.

Where has his brother been? Has he rescued him? No, Hesh left Logan to rot in the Amazon because he was too weak to go after him. Just like how Elias had left him.

_Face it kid, you sold your soul to a devil without askin' about the consequences. _

Rorke smirked at his own jib, knowing Logan was about to become very upset upon hearing the aftermath of the mission.

_Oh well, Creed'll just hafta pick up the pieces. He's good at that. Maybe the only thing he's good at. _

Without another thought, Rorke briskly opened the doors to the courtyard and walked inside.

It was time to have some fun.

* * *

The more Hesh thought about it, the more crazy it seemed. The plan was simply ridiculous. Stupidity in its simplest form. It was like he was about to send his men into the frying pan.

Hesh was never one to think too far ahead when it came to strategies. It usually involved going in guns blazing and just hoping for the best. Merrick always was the go-to-guy when it came to battle plans. The man practically lived for giving others order, Hesh could just tell.

Merrick had also saved his ass on more than one occasion. First, it was from the wolves that had cornered him and Logan after they got stuck out in No Man's Land. Then it was back at the Atlas platform, when they were about to explode into a billion little pieces.

All in all, Hesh owed Merrick a lot.

It was safe to say that he could entrust the man on running point for the first half of the op. This was practically the last chance they had of getting Logan alive. The trail ended here, in Peru. There was no other snippet of information to go on, no other end to follow.

It was now or never. The stakes had never been higher.

This mission was the single most important undertaking that Hesh was about to complete. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins. It felt like his skin was on fire, his breathing constricting in his throat as he considered what would happen if they failed.

They couldn't fail. Hesh wouldn't allow it. He'd lost too much already to just turn back now. To just let himself fail when his brother needed him the most.

The Ghosts were about to kick off the greatest feat they'd ever imagined to accomplish. If this went exactly according to plan, by rescuing Logan they'd dismantle the Federation's recuperation. Therefore, the Federation wouldn't be given the upper hand in the counter-attack, and the giant nation would topple under its own weight.

The aftermath of such a collapse would leave them wide open for attack. The Federation of Americas would cease to exist in a couple of months, and then America could rebuild without fear of invasion.

The thought was almost euphoric.

The world would morph into a utopia of sorts. One of freedom from oppression. Back to the way things were. The very thought was enough to drive any true-blooded patriot into full combat mode. Basically, the entire future of the world depended on their actions.

That was a lot to put on the shoulders of only four people who were outgunned, outmatched, and completely outnumbered. Just the odds the Ghosts liked. Hesh always welcomed a challenge. And this was by every definition of the word the greatest challenge he'd ever faced.

But he wasn't alone. A soldier never went into battle without his brothers. Hesh felt blessed to be given the best damn team he'd ever had the pleasure of working with. This was to be their last mission; the coup de grace.

It would be the final time Hesh let himself lose something to this powerful nation, who might not be all that powerful when this was done and dusted.

Drawing himself back to the present, Hesh examined the courtyard through the binocular lenses.

_This is where they're keeping Logan? _

It was actually genius, Hesh had to admit. If it wasn't for the Neptune's technological skills back at home base in Nevada, they would never have found this safe-house. All they had to go on was a fragmented naval latitude, but Neptune found a way to make sense of it. And his brains had brought them to this exact building. Well, it looked more like a palace built for kings than a safe-house, but that was part of the guise.

No one would suspect the Federation would keep such a valuable prisoner of war out in the open, just hidden in plain sight.

The building was a rather large villa, surrounded by two adjoining houses with snipers posted on the roofs. A lookout was standing on the center overlooking the courtyard, which was in the middle of the villa.

The plan was simple.

But in, grab Logan, and kill all who got in the way. It sounded great, just like any other Ghost plan. Except, like always, there was a catch.

They didn't know what building Logan was in.

There were three possibilities. Each house they cleared added more resistance that they had to deal with, meaning more time that was wasted. They couldn't let Rorke, who the Ghosts knew was in the complex, escape with Logan.

And that was another thing.

Rorke.

The man was a Ghost killer, he'd already killed four of their own and was on his way to making it five. If he was in there with Logan right now, the man would welcome the chance to come out and fight his former team.

It was going to be rough, and that was putting it lightly.

This was about to get real nasty, really fast.

"Everybody strapped on, right?" Hesh breathed out as he glanced over to Kick, Keegan, and Merrick. They all nodded, Kick even giving two thumbs up.

At the current moment, the Ghosts were strapped onto a zip-line that Keegan was going to fire on Hesh's command. And until the squad leader summed up enough courage to begin the assault, they were just awkwardly waiting around the ledge of the hotel room that they were standing on.

"Any day now, Hesh." Kick jumped in, flicking his fingers in anticipation. Hesh could tell all of them were feeling a tad anxious, even if no one admitted it. This was a crucial mission in what could possibly the complete downfall of the country that had ruined half of America.

From what Hesh could see, there had to be more than sixty men down in the villa. He hoped they'd brought enough spare clips to fight that many. His mind flashed back to the story of how the Ghosts came to be, his father's voice cutting into his thoughts.

"_When the men ran dry of ammunition, they used their blades, and when the blades ran dull, they used their hands." _

Well, he had a feeling that they were about to do just that.

"Keegan, kick it off." Hesh found himself wondering how he got the words out, but they'd been spoken.

_Too late to have second thoughts. _

Keegan didn't need to be told twice. In fact, it looked as if the man had been dying to hear those words for ages, as he grinned before launching out the zip-line, startling a Fed soldier below.

"Go! Go!" Hesh shouted as Kick jumped from the hotel roof, swinging down to the second villa house window. Merrick and Keegan quickly followed, firing off their lines and leaving Hesh the last one to go.

With a puff of breath, Hesh launched his line and took a running jump off the roof. He maneuvered himself with his core as he felt his body hurtling towards the stained glass with impeccable speed.

CRASH!

With an audibly loud slam, his body smashed through the glass of the second story window. His body did a barrel roll as he brought himself up, already firing off a steam of bullets as his mouth opened to let out a war cry.

_This is for Logan, this is for dad!_

Hesh found himself advancing, Keegan covering his back with fire as he ran down the open hallway, spraying bullets into the rooms. Winds of metal zipped by his face, smashing potted plants and flicking textile specks into his eyes.

Running to the corner, Hesh slid around as he loaded some lead into a guard's chest. The man's body slumped to the ground, an immovable sack of flesh.

With force he didn't know he had, Hesh kicked open the door in front of him, scaring the shit out of a Fed sitting next to a bunch of computer consoles. He was promptly blasted away before being able to reach his sidearm.

Kick entered the room next, covering the left flank as Hesh covered the right. The two advanced down to the a small corner door, Kick nodding as Hesh threw in a flash-bang.

Kick slammed in the door, Hesh following suit as the two filed in.

The two guards lay dead from their weapons fire, but the room was an empty storage area of Federation supply rations.

"Crap, wrong building." Kick muttered, Hesh already backtracking as he ran out back to the balcony overlooking the courtyard.

Keegan and Merrick were down below, laying down suppressive fire on the men near the fountain. It was shame, really, to see all the flower beds and beautiful plants be trampled by boots and grenades.

By now the whole complex was on high alert, alarms blaring as men ran out of the remaining two houses. Not wanting to linger for too long, Hesh patted his chest while pointing on the middle building. Keegan and Merrick understood as they maneuvered their way across the courtyard to meet up with Hesh and Kick.

"Look out, grenade!" Hesh shouted as he heard a familiar cling next to his position. He shouted it out just in time too, as Kick barely made it to the landing before the supporting pillar was desolated by a loud explosion.

Hesh felt a rumble as he watched the whole second floor hallway begin collapsing in on itself, causing him to stick a hand out to support himself. Things were getting wild now, as Federation elites started to open fire on their position.

Luckily, they had furniture to use as cover.

Ducking under a grand piano, Hesh watched as Kick dived behind a couch. Feathers and fluff sprayed everywhere as bullets pierced the fabric.

Crawling underneath his cover, Hesh brought out his gun as he provided blind-fire. Hopefully, Keegan and Merrick hadn't been slowed down by the landing falling in on itself. He really hoped they weren't trapped under the debris. He really, really hoped that wasn't the case.

As if his prayers had been answered, the delicate sound of a knife cutting through someone's throat signaled that his backup had arrived.

Not keeping his glee from showing, Hesh lurched out and bounded over the couch. With a forceful swing of the arm, he connected his fist with another man's jaw. The Fed stumbled backwards, trying desperately to regain his composure. With a yell, Hesh's foot slammed into the man's stomach.

His court grunt was enough to signal that the air had been knocked out of him, and his backward stumble sent him flying down the stairs. He landed with an ungraceful pose, and an audible snap could be heard.

Most likely the man's neck.

_Well, that's one way to go. _

Cracking his own neck, Hesh nodded to Keegan and Merrick, both looking dirty and scraped up from whatever they were doing downstairs. "Just in the knick of time, guys." Hesh let out a breathless laugh, patting Merrick's shoulder playfully.

"Yeah well, we got hanged up around the living room. Saw a hidden tapestry room and decided to go check it out."

"Well?" Hesh tried to keep the excitement from his voice. Seeing Merrick's disappointed face, Hesh felt his hope dimming.

"Nothing. Just some schematics on railway labor work methods. This building's clear." Merrick sighed, shouldering his assault rifle.

They all knew what that meant, Logan had to be in the widest house. It was the least preferable, due to the wide open space it provided for snipers. Hesh should've known that was the most logical area for a prisoner to be locked away in.

Any attempt to escape could be easily thwarted, and any attempt at a rescue was just the same.

Another thought occurred to him.

Rorke was probably there, waiting for them with that shit-eating grin of his. Hesh swore that that guy was inhuman, the way he enjoyed torture and killing. It was beyond disturbing.

"Alright guys, we're close. Let's not make Logan wait for us any longer, huh?" That got a few invigorated smiles from the team as they pushed themselves down the stairs. Running forward into the entrance way, all four had to take immediate cover when an LMG started to shred the concrete with firepower.

Hesh grit his teeth as a shot barely missed his right shoulder, his body convulsing even further together in an attempt to become as skinny as possible while leaned up against the pillar.

_Damn it, out of arm range. If I could just get close enough to throw a frag..._

"Kick, Merrick, you guys lay down cover fire! Keegan, with me!" Hesh shouted out as the two opened fire on the LMG position. Using the small lapse of fire from the opposing side to their advantage, Keegan and Hesh bolted across the hallway foray.

Just in time too, as the machine gunner returned fire not a moment after they got into a closer cover. Taking out a grenade, and seeing Keegan doing the same, Hesh pulled the pin with his teeth as he hurled the grenade over his shoulder.

"Ahh!" The Federation gunner screamed out as he flew forward, his body missing a leg.

"Tango down!" Keegan shouted as all four moved up into the building. It was the same fire and maneuver from the doorway frames, Merrick and Kick taking up the flank as Keegan and Hesh provided return fire on the remaining five Fed soldiers.

Feeling an adrenaline rush from being so close to his brother, Hesh pulled out his pistol as he fired away two of the Feds with head-shots. Another was taken out by a knife throw courtesy of Keegan, and Kick finished off another with his last clip.

That left one.

Hesh could tell the man was petrified, as he dropped his weapon in fright before running into a safe-room, slamming the door behind him.

_Typical Fed cowards. _

It wasn't unlike the last of the group to go down honorably, so much for dignity and courage. Another sign that the Federation was full of hypocrites.

"This is it, guys. Keep it tight."

Reaching the door, Hesh and Merrick filed to one side while Keegan and Kick filed to the other. Without a word, Kick moved forward and planted a kicker charge on the door.

"3...

2...

1..."

BOOM!

The door caved inward as splinters of wood spewed everywhere, Merrick going in first with a wave of fire. The Fed soldier raised his pistol, only to have his body convulse as six rounds pierced his chest. His corpse fell back against the wall, eyes glazed over.

"I don't get it, where is he?" Merrick muttered out as he examined the room, finding it vacant except the dead soldier. "Where the fuck is he?!"

Keegan seemed confused too, glancing around as if he'd missed a clue. Hesh's eyes searched desperately for any sign that Logan was there, but found nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

_What?! How?! How is this possible?! We were so sure, how could we have missed something?! _

Hesh's anger boiled over as he sent his fist into the wall. "DAMN IT!"

He'd failed his family again, this time for good. Logan was gone, taken away to some other country by now, getting the crap kicked out of him for his captors own amusement. It made him sick to the stomach to think he'd let that happen to his baby brother.

They were too late.

Logan was gone.

"Hold on, what's this?"

Kick spoke up, picking up what seemed like a small tape-recorder from the ground. Without thinking, he pressed the 'play' button.

"_Hey, Ghosts! I got something for ya!_"

The voice sent a fury through Hesh's veins, but also established a newfound vigor in his gut.

It was Rorke.

Rorke was speaking to them, but why?

_What's going on?_

"_I bet you're all bummed about not finding your dear old pal, but don't worry. He's just dandy with us. In fact, he's more than dandy. Ya hear that, Hesh? Your brother actually listens to reason, somethin' I think you desperately need to work on." _

Hesh felt his blood boil as he turned to snarl at that recording. This was beginning to sound incredibly suspicious and bad. Rorke knew that they were coming? How? And why leave some stupid recording behind?

No doubt this was another attempt to taunt them for their failure, which only irked Hesh further. What more did this man want to take from him?

It was agonizing enough to know that Logan was still in Federation custody, but to hear Rorke's jabs at his family was enough to send any man over the edge.

"_I bet it's occurred to you by now that Logan ain't there. That's cause he's all the way back with us. Ya see, we knew you were comin'. In fact, we lured you to this very spot for a specific reason. It wasn't to rescue Logan, oh no. Ya see, the foundation of this villa used to be built over a sinkhole. Of course the ground underneath has stabilized itself, but if you cause a strong enough vibration through the earth, the whole thing becomes...unstable."_

Hesh could hear Rorke's laughter, and he immediately did not like where this was going.

"We've been set up? We've been set up!" Hesh shouted out, all the other Ghosts putting the pieces together as well. How could he not have seen this coming sooner?

_God, how could I have been so stupid?! It was so obvious!_

Hesh figured he could berate himself in the future, and without further ado he began scramble.

Kick followed suit, dropping the recording in a hurry.

"_Bye-bye, Ghosts!" _

Rorke's voice haunted after them, and suddenly a loud _thoom_ could be heard from far off. Soon after, Hesh felt a vibration pass underneath his feet.

No sooner had it been heard, Hesh was already up and moving towards the source.

Suddenly, the entire courtyard began to sink into itself, all the nice marble and concrete giving way as the ground started to crumble.

"Fuck, we gotta get the fuck outta here!" Merrick shouted out, and Kick didn't need to be told that. Everything started to collapse, the walkway beginning to slant as the supporting beams gave way underneath.

Hesh jumped and slid over falling debris, trying desperately to keep himself upright. It was so damn difficult with everything tilting. An abrupt lurch caused him to slide off his feet, his body sliding down the walkway like a ramp as he saw himself hurtling towards the ground.

"Hesh!"

Kick's hand shot out, gripping his wrist with an iron grasp. Hesh was surprised by how strong Kick was, though he quickly shook that off as he felt himself getting hoisted back up.

The moment was short-lived however as Hesh saw the roof break off, the entire textile platform sliding down at them. "Watch out!" He cried, only it was too late.

The force of the impact caused both men to fall off the second floor and down into the sinking earth below.

Hesh let out a painful grunt as he hit the ground, his back aching from the fall. His eyes bolted open, albeit quite blurry as he looked around for Kick. There was nobody in sight, only sinking debris and collapsing concrete. Hesh noticed that the ground he was sitting on was beginning to break apart.

With a surge of strength, possibly from the sheer will to live, Hesh bolted himself under the falling rocks, through the flying dirt, and jumped over chasms as they began to appear in his wake.

He didn't have time to look back to see if anyone was following him, he just ran. He ran until he bursted himself free of the danger zone with a massive jump to solid ground, his body rolling until he came to a halt.

Raising himself up, Hesh ignored the blood and dirt that caked his body. He ignored the pain that he was feeling. All he did was gaze up as he watched the once massive villa disappear into the earth, taking everything and everyone with it.

Hesh felt himself go limp, his legs giving out beneath him as he collapsed to his knees.

_I've failed. I've failed Logan and I failed my team. I probably just led them to their death, and I didn't even realize it. _

_Oh Hesh, what the fuck have you done?_

* * *

Creed's order had been simple. Find the base, find the defense codes, and wipe the area clean.

He'd already given Logan the rundown of how many men were guarding the facility, and what to expect resistance wise. It seemed easy enough, as it was the first time Logan had been out in the field since his capture.

What Creed had failed to mention was that he'd be working alongside Rorke.

Rorke.

The man who killed his father right in front of his eyes.

That guy, yeah.

This was the main reason Logan was unhappy at the current moment. He knew he'd be working with the man when he decided to join up with the Federation, but he thought it would be nothing more than just talking and coming up with strategies together.

Nope.

Apparently, he was to work with this agent ninety percent of the time he was going out on ops. Ninety percent. Logan knew he'd just have to get used to fighting with the Ghost Killer, and that he himself wasn't actually a Ghost anymore.

Though he didn't betray them, not at all. They betrayed themselves when they went along with Americas plans. Hesh too, despite Logan's uneasiness about fighting his own brother.

That was another thing he'd have to get over.

The other reason that Logan was currently unhappy was that he was dangling from a very high cliff. It was the only way to get inside the base without being detected, but that didn't make Logan feel like this was necessary.

Creed was just testing him, making sure he was field ready for the invasion plan they had going on. That was something Logan was actually looking forward to, but in order to commence the invasion, they had to have the exact American defense patterns.

Sure, his memory was good, but trying to come up with the _exact _frequencies and relays after being subjugated to torture for nine months was hard.

So acquiring the codes from this Mexico sub-station was key. It was a well hidden station, but with Logan's know-how of American bunker locations, they'd easily found it.

Logan knew how close he was to the Texan border, how close he was to home. But then again, it wasn't really his home anymore. Not entirely. He now belonged to the Federation of Americas, as he was one of their top agents.

America was now a foreign place to him, the enemy. It was a strange, yet somewhat welcomed, feeling to be fighting against your former comrades. Your former brothers in arms. Logan just couldn't explain it.

"Hey, kid! Get your head outta your ass and focus!" Rorke snapped to him, the man working his way along the cliffside above him.

Logan scoffed, using his returning strength to force himself to climb upwards. It felt good being back in the field, it really did. This was what Logan had trained for since he was seven years old. His father really was proud of his boys, and that brought a smile to Logan's face.

_Good old dad. I miss you._

Dwelling in the past though wouldn't bring him back, and blaming Rorke or himself wouldn't help move things along. They had a mission to complete, and they were going to finish it.

Rorke had just gotten back from Peru, and news of what happened to the Ghosts was still traveling. From what Logan had caught up on, it was successful. But those were just bits and snippets, not the whole story.

He'd asked Rorke about it before they parachuted down to the cliffside, and the man had seemed reluctant to talk about it. Logan would find out in the morning anyway, so he decided not to press it.

He got the feeling that Rorke still didn't trust him, and he could say the same about the man.

It was probably another reason Creed put them together, so they could build up a partnership.

Finally reaching the top, Logan took out his silenced sniper rifle as he cocked the bolt back, placing a bullet in.

"Take out the guard in the tower on my mark. Three, two, one, mark." Rorke said, Logan following the orders as the American soldier fell with a solid shot to the head.

"First American kill, how'd that feel?" Rorke asked with a grin, to which Logan shrugged.

"No different."

That got a chuckle from the man as they moved in on the station. It wasn't all that big, in fact it was only one building with three rooms inside. Still, the top overlook was the room they were interested, everything else was irrelevant.

"I'll take the East side, you cover from the North." Logan quipped up, Rorke grunting as the two split off.

Bracing himself against the hard concrete, Logan pulled out his two silenced beretta pistols as he waited for Rorke to get into position.

"_I'm ready. On you, kid." _

Logan kicked in the door with a solid slam as he greeted the two Americans inside with throat shots, both of them gurgling as they fell down before they knew what happened. A loud scream and gunshots could be heard from the room next door, signifying that Rorke had entered the building.

"Room clear." Logan remarked in his radio as he moved up the metal staircase, on his way to the second floor overwatch. He felt breathing behind him, knowing Rorke had caught up.

"There's one tango inside, he's all yours." Rorke grunted, stepping back a little to give Logan space.

The boy nodded, flexing his muscles as he rounded the corner and offed the radio operator with a swift shot through the forehead. The man's brain matter covered the window overlooking the Gulf.

"Nice." Rorke chuckled, patting Logan in the back as he got to work downloading the schematics from the nearby consoles.

Logan didn't bother to look over anything else as he holstered his weapons, waiting patiently for Rorke to finish.

"Done. Let's bolt before the Americans check-in." Rorke got up quickly, already brushing past Logan with a little force as he headed down the stairs. Not having the energy to retort, Logan followed after him until they were clear of the station.

As soon as they were out of the perimeter range, Rorke patted Logan's shoulder while he brought out a case.

"Ready to rain hellfire. You wanna call it in, kid?" Rorke smiled, sliding the Predator feed over to him.

Logan just gave Rorke a look, raising an eyebrow as he hesitantly stuck out a hand and grasped the handle. His answer was clear.

Opening it up, Logan gave one last look before he pressed the button.

The Predator missile slammed down on the station, engulfing the entire thing in an inferno and erasing any trace that they were ever there.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Alright, alright! So we got Logan, Creed, and Rorke doing their bad guys stuff. Invasion plans are getting closer to reality. Meanwhile, things don't look so good for the Ghosts. What happened to Merrick, Keegan, and Kick?

Are they alive?

Stay tuned!


End file.
